


Out for Blood

by CricketScribbles



Category: Jurassic Park - All Media Types, Jurassic World Trilogy (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Drama, F/M, Human/Vampire Relationship, Romance, Sex, Vampires, attempts are made at fashion references, but i live in rubber boots, but sort of blood bonding, comes from google research, forgive any errors in that department, not really any blood kinks, so all of my fashion knowledge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2019-06-07 16:09:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15222824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CricketScribbles/pseuds/CricketScribbles
Summary: Claire Dearing rose through the ranks of vampires to become Madam of the hive in a very short time with brutal, cold efficiency. Now that efficiency has been turned on the human world and it's Owen Grady's job to put an end to Claire and her brood of bloodsuckers.But Owen soon finds himself tangled up with Claire in ways he was never supposed to be. And rather than run the other way like he knows he should, he only digs his grave deeper and deeper...





	1. Chapter 1

 

“Back me up on this, Grady.”

Owen dragged his attention back to the bar. It had been a long day and the presence of Vic Hoskins wasn’t making it any better with his loud voice and brash mannerisms, strong arming others into doing things his way.

Before Owen got a chance to respond, Hoskins plowed on.

“Heavy weapons and man power will do more damage against this goddamn vamp infestation we’ve got on our hands than anything else,” he said. “Working solo just turns you into a giant walking target for those blood suckers. You’ll be dead faster than that.”

Hoskins snapped his fingers to punctuate his words.

Owen gritted his teeth, twisting his beer bottle in small circles, following the ring of condensation that had pooled on the scarred and dented countertop.

He worked alone. Always had. And for some reason, it rubbed Hoskins the wrong way. He’d tried to recruit Owen into his small army before more than once. But Owen turned him down again and again, which Hoskins didn’t like.

“Every hunter has their own method,” Owen said.

A diplomatic answer he didn’t want to give and Hoskins didn’t want to hear.

Hoskins jerked his thumb toward Eli Mills, hunched over his laptop screen. A glass of scotch sat forgotten by his elbow as he tapped away at the keyboard, making adjustments to his tracking algorithms.

“You can’t tell me,” Hoskins said. “That Inspector Gadget over here has more kills than either of us. All that high tech doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. Only trips you up.”

Eli sighed with exasperation.

“There’s more to vampire hunting than the number of notches on your shotgun’s stock, Mr. Hoskins,” he said.

“Right, right,” Hoskins said with a nod.

He leaned back in his chair, tipping it onto the hind legs until it wobbled and creaked, threatening to give way under his weight.

“You’re looking for patterns,” he added. “Habits. Favorite hideouts and feeding grounds to anticipate their moves. Which is great and all.” He put out a hand to silence Eli’s impending protest. “Don’t get me wrong. But it’s too slow. They’re animals. They kill. They feed. They fuck. End of story. In my opinion, Mills, you’re making it slower and more complicated than it has to be.”

Owen downed the last of his beer and set the bottle on the table. This was going downhill. Fast.

It wasn’t as if Hoskins and Mills were his friends. They were hunters. Acquaintances. Network connections. And he didn’t have to tolerate their company any longer than necessary.

“Hey, Grady,” Hoskins said. “Did you catch that Dearing bitch yet?”

Owen shook his head as he stood and shrugged on his jacket.

“She’s the Madam of the hive for a reason,” he said. “Slippery as hell. But I’m closing in.”

Hoskins raised his eyebrows and grinned with bared teeth like a wolf. Vampires were the ones who opened a vein and chugged. But the bloodlust on Hoskins’ face was more unsettling than the hungry vampires Owen had faced during his lifetime.

“If you need an extra hand,” Hoskins said. “Say the word. I’d be glad to pitch in and help take her down.”

“I’ll be sure to let you know.”

As soon as Owen was in the safety of the parking lot without Hoskins tailing him, Owen let out a breath of relief. He fished the keys from his pocket and sat on his motorcycle, head bowed, exhausted.

Claire Dearing had been a pain in his ass for a long, long time, skirting just out of his reach. At one point, she had been just another vampire with no power or influence in the hive.

But within only a few short years, she had climbed the ranks of the hive with brutally cold efficiency until she reached queen bee status and became the Madam. All vampires answered to her orders and the efficiency she had used on her own kind was now turned upon the human world.

Tomorrow was a fresh start. He would pick up her trail again and hope that he could finish her off rather than wind up empty handed at the end of the day. Again.

Owen started his motorcycle, pumped the gas, and screeched out of the parking lot into the night.

 

* * *

 

The moment Owen stepped into his trailer, he smelled her. Darkness swelled with the cloying scent of old roses and too-sweet blood.

Claire was here. After years of chasing her, she had come to him.

“So,” Owen said. “I suppose this is the part where you kill me.”

His fingers curved around the handle of the knife at his belt. He wasn’t going down without a fight.

“I will,” Claire replied. “If you pull that blade.”

Owen was used to horror stories and embellished tales. Hunters were prone to exaggeration. Blame it on the adrenaline rush of surviving impossible odds, tangling with death every night, tracking down the blood thirsty creatures that lived in the shadows.

But nothing could have prepared him for finally hearing Claire Dearing’s voice for the first time. Merciless. Smooth as silk. And stone cold.

The rustle of fabric whispered in the darkness as Claire rose from the chair on the far side of the room. She stood in silhouette against the window, dark curves gilded in silver moonlight, tempting and dangerous.

“What do you want?” Owen said.

“Stop tracking me. It’s annoying. And I’m losing patience very fast.”

“Afraid I can’t do that. Gotta make a living somehow.”

“Get a desk job. Less hazardous, too.”

Owen shook his head. “Nah, wouldn’t suit me. See, I’m actually pretty good at what I do right now. And that’s sniffing out vamps like you.”

“Yet you haven’t been able to catch me.”

“You’re here now, aren’t you? All I need to do is stab you in the chest and we’re done here.”

Owen’s gaze flicked down Claire’s throat, following the plunging neckline of her black dress dipped sinfully low between her breasts. An expanse of exposed skin gleamed pale in the moonlight, flawless as porcelain.

“It’ll be a shame to ruin yours though,” he added wryly. “Won’t hurt more than a pinch, I promise.”

Claire stepped forward, her heels clicking like a cocked gun in the shadows.

“Then I hope you enjoy your game of cat and mouse while it lasts, Mr. Grady,” she said in a tone that made him wonder whether he was the hunter or the hunted.

And Claire walked out, leaving him in the dark.

Owen released a breath of relief, leaning back against the counter. He had survived a vampire, face to face with a Madam no less. Somehow, he hadn’t drawn his weapon, hadn’t acquired a single scratch.

She knew he was a threat but she had left him alive anyway. Probably for sport.

It seemed Owen wasn’t the only one who craved the thrill of the chase as much as the hunt.


	2. Chapter 2

Claire didn’t play fair very often. There was usually a gun pointed to her head, a stake aimed at her heart, and it left no room for mercy.

But she was a member of the undead with fangs at her disposal. Humans were fragile creatures and their paper-thin skin cut as smoothly as a hot knife through butter with one nick of her teeth.

If she didn’t provide a warning, killing humans was so easy that it almost became boring. They simply didn’t stand a chance.

When Claire stepped out of Grady’s trailer, the proverbial noose tightened, constricting what little mercy she could spare into extinction.

The blood scent of two other hunters hung in the air, still fresh and nearby. She heard the pounding thrum of their blood, pulsing through arteries like rolling thunder.

It had been a risky move to face Grady in his territory, Claire was well aware of that.

But he was getting too close to her hive and she had to draw him away, direct his attention somewhere else. If he didn’t keep his distance, she would have to kill him sooner rather than later.

So she warned him in the hopes that it didn’t come to violence. Although it seemed Grady wasn’t going to heed that warning if he was bringing in reinforcements.

Claire angled her head, listening for the rhythm of blood. She breathed deep to catch a defining scent, the keys to her Mercedes poised in hand.

Over the years, she had learned how to differentiate hunters by the scent and sound of their blood.

Grady smelled wild. Dirt and pine and engine grease. But there was a wisp of something sweeter that lingered underneath, like vanilla or cinnamon.

For all his talk of slaughtering vampires, he had something mundane in his life that he took comfort in, something he held close and Claire hadn’t been able to sniff it out yet.

Perhaps a girlfriend who baked to satisfy his sweet tooth. Or a mistress who left lipstick on his collar and her perfume on his clothes.

But there was no scent of Owen Grady now.

Vic Hoskins smelled stale and cheap. Second hand cigarettes. Day old warm beer. Dollar store cologne that might as well have been toilet water for the weak, sour odor it gave off.

Eli Mills was the opposite, carrying the sharp sting of expensive aftershave, mingled with the steam of ironed clothes.

It seemed they were on Grady’s turf without his knowledge.

Claire climbed into her Mercedes and turned north, heading away from the hive.

As long as she entertained company, she couldn’t return to the hive and bring unwanted guests on her girls. She tapped a button on the dashboard to signal for back up.

A moment later, Echo returned her call.

“Hunters?” she said.

“Two,” Claire replied. “Hoskins and Mills.”

“What about Grady?” Delta’s voice this time. Crisp and cool despite the lilt of tattletale eagerness.

Grady had always made Delta nervous with his persistence. Most hunters gave up when a vampire couldn’t be caught after a year or two. They moved on to other targets and easier pickings.

But not Grady.

His focus remained steadfast and unwavering like a homing missile, locked onto Claire and her hive. And Delta would be more than happy to get rid of him.

“He’s not with them,” Claire said.

“How do you know that?”

“A heartbeat never lies.”

In Grady’s trailer, she had seen his pulse, just above the open collar of his shirt. Frantic as a trapped butterfly, kicking at the skin of his throat—a normal reaction for a human caught off guard. Especially for a man like Grady who had lived a good portion of his life fighting for survival.

Grady had been completely unprepared for Claire’s visit. She had surprised him, exactly as she hoped to. But his pulse never suggested his words were false, no attempt to contain her or even stop her from leaving.

“I spooked him,” Claire said. “But he wasn’t hiding anything.”

Delta hissed through her teeth with disagreement.

“He’s a hunter,” she said. “They’re always hiding something. Usually a stake. Or a bullet.”

“Fair point. However, in this case, I don’t smell or hear any signs of Grady. So help me get these two hunters off my back before sunrise.”

Claire flicked her gaze to the rearview mirror. A mud-splattered Jeep pulled in behind her on the highway. Hoskins’ blood scent ballooned in a mushroom cloud around her.

Blue let out a whoop of laughter, thrilled at being released to cause damage.

“Where do you want us?” she said.

“Meet me in the warehouse district,” Claire replied.

“Wait,” Delta cut in. “Is this a kill order? Or not?”

Claire tore her gaze away from the Jeep. She hadn’t warned Hoskins or Mills. It wouldn’t be a fair fight.

But as she had become familiar with Grady’s favorite haunts and habits, she had also gained information on Hoskins and Mills.

She knew Hoskins had a sweet spot for heavy artillery and man power.

She knew Mills liked his state of the art technology.

Hoskins would mock a warning. Mills would turn a warning against her.

“Maim if you can,” Claire said. “Unless it turns ugly. Then take them out.”

* * *

Claire stood in the middle of the road, hands folded in front of her, wine red heels tucked close together—the image of calm, cool, and collected.

At her back, waiting in the dark were her girls. Blue and Delta. Charlie and Echo.

She didn’t have to say a word for Blue and Delta to fan out, flanking her. She didn’t have to give the order for Charlie and Echo to keep an eye on the rear in case Mills attempted to shut off her route of escape.

Her girls fought together like clockwork, a seamless, flawless pack of predators. They knew what to do on instincts alone.

Hoskins’ Jeep swerved around the corner and slowed to a stop. Two men stood in the back, semi-automatics strapped over their shoulders. Hoskins stepped out of the car, thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans.

“The infamous Madam Claire Dearing,” he said. “In the flesh.”

His pulse was erratic and too-loud in the quiet of the night. Not from fear. His blood was hot with anticipation of the kill. His posture screamed arrogance—he thought he had Claire in the bag already.

“Good evening, Mr. Hoskins,” Claire replied. “Is there something I can do for you?”

Hoskins settled his palm over the handle of the gun at his hip.

“I’ve got a bullet with your name on it,” he said. “If you could just sit still while I aim…”

He drew his pistol, slowly extended his arm, one eye squinted shut. Claire didn’t move, didn’t blink, unaffected.

A second car rumbled into view—a sleek black Cadillac. Mills.

“Don’t shoot her,” Mills said in a rush, one hand outstretched as if he could stay the destructive force of Hoskins by sheer willpower alone.

The corner of Hoskins’ mouth twitched in irritation. He kept his gaze trained on Claire as he responded to Mills.

“Why the hell not?” he demanded.

“There are other vampires in the area.”

Hoskins paused, taking that piece of information into consideration. Then he snorted.

“Your high tech gizmos tell you that?”

Mills let his hand drop. Claire almost felt a modicum of sympathy for him, mowed down by the brashness of Hoskins.

But he was a hunter, here to kill her and the girls. Any threat of sympathy withered on the spot at that thought.

“I believe we’re outnumbered, Mr. Hoskins,” Mills said. “If you have a death wish, by all means, pull that trigger.”

Hoskins tilted his head, studying Claire. The stink of adrenaline was pouring off of him like gasoline and the short fuse of his ego was dangerously close to the fumes. It wouldn’t take more than a breath of air in the wrong direction to set him off.

Hoskins fired.

Blue launched out of the shadows and collided with him. The shot went wide, nicking Claire’s shoulder with a vicious burn.

Blue slashed, fingernails leaving deep gashes across Hoskins’ chest. She crouched above him, all lean muscle and bared teeth, one hand locked around his throat, pinning him to the pavement.

Hoskins’ men raised their rifles, turned them on Blue.

But they were trained monkeys, not predators. They didn’t have the itch of blood lust that Claire’s girls did.

The men didn’t shoot and they wouldn’t, not until they were told what to do by Hoskins. And Hoskins was too busy gasping for air, flat on his back on the ground to say anything.

Claire touched her shoulder with two fingers, examining the hole in her dress with a sigh.

“There’s no need to treat a perfectly good Gucci that way, Mr. Hoskins,” she said. “Although I suppose it can be mended. And lucky for you, blood stains don’t show up on black.”

She took a step towards him. Hoskins made a strangled noise, blood bubbling on his lips. His men shifted forward, muscles tensed, heartbeats pounding like war drums.

Claire flicked two fingers out. Delta, Echo, and Charlie emerged into the light. Five vampires to four humans.

Delta patted the side of Hoskins’ Jeep and his men startled, looking down at her. She tsked and pointed to the ground. They tossed their rifles aside.

“Good boys,” she purred.

Mills swore and scrambled into his car, leaving Hoskins behind.

“I certainly hope you weren’t counting on him for support,” Claire said, examining her slick red fingernails absently.

The stench of Hoskins’ blood was thick, cloying and noxious. Completely unappetizing. Some humans weren’t worth the effort of butchering for food.

She crouched down beside him, touched his neck with two fingers until she found the _thumpthumpthump_ of his pulse. Scared. Panicked. He was sure he would die tonight.

“Do you know what happens when a vampire bleeds?” Claire said softly.

Hoskins swallowed and shook his head.

“She has to feed,” Claire whispered. “To make up for the blood loss. And it seems you’ve provided quite a meal.”

The rumble of an engine echoed in the darkness. Claire stopped and listened.

She knew that heartbeat. She knew that wild scent.

“Charlie, Echo,” Claire barked. “You’re on lookout. Delta, Blue, stay with me.”

By the time Grady rounded the corner and his motorcycle skidded to a stop, Claire stood several feet away from Hoskins.

Delta and Blue stood on either side of her. Charlie and Echo were well out of sight, hidden in the dark.

Hoskins’ men huddled in the back of the Jeep, shaking their heads and signaling for Grady to turn around and run.

Grady ignored them and headed towards Hoskins, his gaze trained on Claire. To his credit, he didn’t reach for a weapon this time. At least not yet.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” Grady said. “First, breaking and entering. Now attempted murder.”

“It was self-defense, Mr. Grady,” Claire replied.

Grady hooked his hands under Hoskins’ arms and hauled him closer to the Jeep.

“Don’t…listen to her,” Hoskins rasped.

“Stop talking,” Grady said as he examined the gashes on Hoskins’ chest.

Claire could have sworn there was a hint of satisfaction in those words, as if he’d wanted to say that for a long time.

“Doesn’t look too bad,” Grady said. “The cuts aren’t deep but you might need stitches. Let’s go.”

He pulled Hoskins to his feet and helped him into the Jeep. As Grady settled into the driver’s seat and put the Jeep in reverse, Claire spoke.

“Consider this your second warning, Mr. Grady,” she said. “Keep your hunters away from me or your third warning will be a massacre.”

Grady held her gaze for a moment then nodded. He backed up and sped out of the warehouse district, leaving his motorcycle behind.

Blue and Delta, Charlie and Echo turned as one, looking to Claire.

“Should we follow?” Blue said. She shifted in place, hungry for more action.

“No,” Claire replied. “I don’t want any of you near Grady. Besides, I think we’ve made our point perfectly clear."


	3. Chapter 3

“Jesus, Grady, that _hurts_ ,” Hoskins hissed.

Owen shot him a look and stabbed the needle into his skin a little harder than necessary. Hoskins gritted his teeth and flinched, recoiling into the couch cushions.

“You’re bedside manner is shit,” he grumbled. “Anybody ever tell you that?”

“Too bad I don’t give a damn,” Owen replied absently as he tied off the thread.

“Dearing was this close to killing me, you know.”

Hoskins held up two fingers to indicate the narrow escape he believed he’d had. Owen ignored him and cut the thread.

If Claire wanted dinner, Hoskins would have never seen it coming.

In less than twenty-four hours, she had put hunters in her line of fire twice. But she had let the opportunity for a kill shot pass her by. And Owen couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t out of the goodness of her heart. Claire had her reasons, whatever they were.

Owen dropped the needle into a cup of rubbing alcohol and tossed his first aid kit on the table.

“You’re right,” Owen said. “She would have killed you. Especially if you’d kept at her the way you were going.”

Hoskins raised an eyebrow and pointed at himself.

“Are you…are you pinning the blame on me here, Grady?” he said with disbelief.

Owen shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”

He made his way to the kitchen, pulled open the refrigerator and retrieved a beer. He popped the top off as he leaned back against the counter.

“Look at me,” Hoskins insisted, gesturing to the stitches on his chest. “She had her little whelp tear me up. How is that my fault?”

Owen shook his head. “Those cuts are pretty superficial.”

“Superficial, my ass.”

“Bled a lot, sure. But didn’t hit any vital organs. Knowing what Claire Dearing is capable of, she could have ripped out your lungs before you took a breath to call for backup.”

Hoskins’ expression darkened. He braced his elbows on his knees and fixed Owen with a hard look.

“Sounds almost like you’re taking her side,” he said.

Owen set his beer on the counter with a resounding clank.

“No matter how many years you’ve been hunting, Hoskins, you still don’t get it.”

Hoskins spread his hands. “Fill me in then. Go ahead. Tell me what I’m missing.”

“Vampires have a relationship with their food.”

“A relationship,” Hoskins said in a flat voice, skepticism heavy in his tone.

“If they wanted to, they could wipe us off the face of the earth. The human race gone extinct. No sweat. But if they did that, there’d be nothing left to eat. Vampires would starve to death.”

Hoskins draped an arm over the back of the couch with a smug look, annoyance seeping out of every pore.

“So you’re saying they need us.” He shook his head. “Nope. Not buyin’ it.”

“I’m saying there’s a balance,” Owen said. “We’re not top of the food chain here, Hoskins.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Owen. Man will always be king. These vamps might have fangs at their disposal but they have weaknesses, too. Just like everything else. All you’ve got to do is find it and use it to your advantage.”

“Is that what you were doing in my area last night without a heads up?” Owen said. “Looking for my weak spot?”

Hoskins’ gaze went cold, the smug look on his face frozen in bared teeth and menace.

“I was watching your back,” he said.

“Bullshit.”

“Last I checked it wasn’t a crime to hunt the same vampire.”

Owen’s fingers tightened on the beer bottle, his grip slick from the condensation on the glass. Hoskins had a point, as much as Owen hated to admit it.

There were no rules to hunting but there were precautions. When a hunter was on the trail of a vampire, sneaking up on him was a bad idea. Startle a hunter in the dark and it was an open invitation for bloodshed by friendly fire.

Hoskins knew that. He worked with a pack of hunters at his beck and call. Maybe he really was after Dearing. But that wasn’t the whole truth.

“If you have a problem with how I hunt,” Owen said, his voice low and carefully measured. “Say it to my face.”

Hoskins met Owen’s gaze in a stifling pause of silence, tension waiting to snap.

“You don’t have the balls to off her,” Hoskins said.

Owen’s jaw twitched. At the forefront of his mind, the image of ramming Hoskins’ teeth down his throat was searing hot with satisfaction, making his fingers curl into a fist, prepared to carry it out.

He should have left Hoskins to Claire Dearing’s mercy.

Hoskins took advantage of Owen’s lack of response, either oblivious to the way Owen’s body wound tighter and tighter, ready to spring. Or interpreting no comeback as an opportunity to continue driving his point home.

“You’ve been dancing around each other for years,” Hoskins said. “That’s dangerous in our line of work. You’ll get this screwed up view of things like a fun house mirror. Then you’ll start to wonder if maybe Dearing isn’t so bad after all. Pretty soon, you become one of those damn familiars that vamps cart around like dogs on a leash—“

Owen sent the beer bottle flying. It shattered against the wall, an inch shy of Hoskins’ head. Beer dripped down the wall, soaking into the back of the couch. Hoskins brushed a shard of glass off of his shoulder.

“Get out,” Owen said, his voice dark and rough.

Hoskins rose to his feet and as he stepped past Owen, he stopped.

“You seem a little touchy, buddy,” he said. “Like maybe I hit too close to home and struck a nerve.”

Owen fished the keys to Hoskins Jeep from his pocket and shoved them in Hoskins’ chest. Hoskins’ face twitched in an attempt to hide a wince.

“Next time,” Owen said. “I’ll let Dearing rip your lungs out.”

***

Claire was a creature of habit. She had certain places she favored more than others, places that accepted the cash she threw around and didn’t ask questions when she requested late night services to avoid any contact with the sunlight.

But Claire was also damn good at covering her tracks and staying one step ahead of Owen at all times.

After Claire’s visit and the attack on Hoskins, it took two weeks before Owen finally managed to make contact with her.

It was 2am—that hazy time when the ink of night melted and the first blush of dawn was far away. Neon signs from 24 hour diners and pawn shops cast a purple, blue, and pink haze over gray shadows. Row after row of shops were closed, restaurants folded up and tucked away until morning.

But there was a light on in Isla Boutique.

Owen tested the door knob only to find it wouldn’t budge. He picked the lock with his pocket knife and eased the door open. The moment he set foot inside, Claire would sense him. But that’s why she was still here, wasn’t she? To talk. Maybe provide that third and final warning before she sank her teeth into his neck and drained him dry.

An employee in a black pencil skirt and white blouse was fluttering around the shop, a pile of clothing draped over one arm as she pulled even more clothes off of the racks. Her gold name tag read ZARA.

Owen carefully moved into her line of sight to make it known he wasn’t a threat. Zara slowed to a stop and her gaze swept over him. The boutique served a select clientele composed of women with plenty of money to spend on dresses, shoes, and jewelry. He must have stood out like a sore thumb with his biker boots, faded jeans, and sweat-stained Henley.

Zara angled her head toward the dressing room in the back.

“She’s waiting for you.”

Owen nodded his appreciation. There was a full length mirror outside of the dressing room with a couch and two chairs. He chose the couch, settled in, spread out and comfortable, his hands resting loosely on top of his thighs. He was armed, of course. But this wasn’t meant to be a blood bath.

At least, he hoped it didn’t turn out that way.

A minute later, the dressing room door opened and Claire emerged in a lush red satin dress, dripping off of every curve like liquid. Her gaze didn’t even stutter on the sight of Owen sitting there. She looked right past him and approached the mirror.

“How is your friend doing?” she said, nonchalant and casual.

“Still kicking,” Owen replied. “Might want to be careful though. Hoskins will be hellbent on killing you after this.”

Claire met his gaze in the mirror with a prim little smile.

“Why, Mr. Grady,” she said, all false sweetness and feigned shock. “Is that why you came here? To warn me that a hunter could make an attempt on my life? That’s very kind of you.”

Owen grinned at her, playing right along.

“Actually, I came to finish you off myself.”

She hummed. “Oh, I doubt that.”

Turning away from the mirror, she retreated to the dressing room. As she opened the door, she dragged the dress’s zipper down her side.

The dress pooled around her ankles and she paused just long enough for Owen to get a good long look at the black lace bra and thong she wore.

“I’m only allowing you to see me now,” she said over her shoulder. “Because I want you to.”

Then she closed the door behind her.

Owen scrubbed at the back of his neck.

He had never considered vampires to be a particularly attractive species before. The blood sucking thing was a turn off.

But he had to admit, Claire Dearing made him stare more than he should have.

“What made you decide to show up to my little party with Hoskins and Mills?” Claire said, her voice muffled from the dressing room.

“I’ve been tracking you for years,” Owen replied. “Then you show up on my doorstep out of the blue and you don’t kill me. It had me curious.”

“You followed me. After I told you not to.”

“I don’t take orders very well.”

Claire laughed. “Says the man with the Navy tattoo on his shoulder.”

Owen raised his eyebrows. His tattoo was usually covered by t-shirts and jackets—a force of habit to protect as much skin as possible when he hunted in case he came in contact with sharp objects like vampire teeth. Sometimes a layer of clothing bought him the precious seconds he needed to defend himself or escape.

“Never pegged you for the peeping type,” he replied.

“You hunt a woman for years and you think you know everything about her.”

A pause settled over the room.

“So Navy records are a cinch to get into then,” Owen said.

“As long as the illusion of security helps you sleep at night,” Claire said, the smile in her voice clearly audible, pleased as a cat.

Owen tugged at his ear and shifted. Claire had dirt on him. That was no surprise. As resourceful and ambitious as she was, it made perfect sense that she kept tabs on him while he dogged her every step for years on end. She would want to know what she was up against.

“Why did you call off your vamps?” Owen said. “That night with Hoskins and Mills. You could have been rid of them and your life would be a hell of a lot simpler for it.”

“I’m picky about what I eat,” Claire said.

“I believe that about you. But not your brats. Teenagers and their insatiable appetites for junk food.”

The door opened again to reveal Claire in a ripe plum purple dress that made her pale, smooth skin appear touchably soft. The straps were pushed off of her shoulders, clinging to her upper arms and putting her shoulders on display.

This time, she paid no attention to the mirror. She didn’t need confirmation to know she looked drop dead gorgeous.

Claire tipped her head to the side and slowly approached Owen. She pushed between his knees, trailing one shining black fingernail up his forearm.

The scent of roses curled around Owen, with the lingering smell of blood, heavy and sweet.

She was close. So close that all he had to do was pull the stake from the pocket inside his jacket. Drive the wood into her heart. It would be over that fast.

“Maybe I like playing with my food a little bit,” Claire said. “Fear lends a special kind of flavor to blood.”

Owen shook his head. “You’re not stupid. You have to know how many hunters want you dead, not including me. If you let one get away, they’ll crack down on you twice as hard.”

Claire leaned forward, granting a generous view of her cleavage. Judging by the gape of the dress’s fabric and how low the neckline descended, there was no sign of the black bra she had flaunted earlier.

Claire placed her hand against Owen’s cheek and brushed her thumb along his bottom lip.

“I allowed you to get away,” she said. “And you haven’t pulled that stake you’re carrying around. I must be doing something right.”

Claire straightened, tugged the neckline of her dress a little higher, and turned back to the dressing room. As she walked away, Owen caught a glimpse of a different kind of view as the slit of her dress climbed dangerously high up the back of her thighs.

Owen was no stranger to fighting dirty.

But it seemed Claire had extended an invitation to battle on a whole new level.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time Claire returned to the hive, she could feel the first sting of dawn at her back. The sun hadn’t risen yet—maybe in another twenty minutes or so—but the brightening sky from velvet blue to flushed peach was enough to send Claire hurrying into the comfort of shadows provided by her home.

In the 1800’s, the hive used to be an affluent boarding school for girls who belonged to wealthy families and the architecture showed it. Four towers spiraled up from each corner of the building, granting a view of the street, the perfect lookout position to keep tabs on passersby below.

Scrolling staircases twisted and twined throughout the house. At the west side of the house was a ballroom with three crystal chandeliers and floor to ceiling bay windows that had long since shattered, boarded over to ward off squatters.

On the east side of the house was a sitting room, an industrial-sized kitchen to feed over fifty girls at one time, and an aviary for those especially well-to-do daughters who managed to indulge their whimsical desires for falconry in the heart of New York City.

By the 1900’s, the school was bankrupt. Girls were sent to more refined teachers in England, France, and Switzerland. Finances dwindled away until they failed altogether.

The school was closed, the interior stripped of anything valuable, and only ghosts remained.

Until the 1920’s rolled around.

The dark, spacious cellar was the perfect home for a speakeasy, where illegal alcohol and gambling, salacious singers and bawdy dancing lasted well into the night. And when the owner behind the bar, John Hammond, flashed a rather unusually toothy smile in greeting, no one questioned his fangs and blamed it on too much booze making them see things.

Once alcohol was legal again, the speakeasy should have been rendered obsolete. Instead, it became a haven for vampires where they were kept safe from the outside world that hunted them.

Claire parked her car in the carriage house in the back, draped in trailing ivy, emerald green moss creeping up the dusky red bricks. She dragged the shopping bags out of the trunk and before she even reached the hive’s steps, the door flung open.

Blue, Echo and Charlie flew out, dancing circles around her. Delta remained in the doorway, arms crossed, her mouth set in a thin line of disapproval, as if she already knew that Claire had failed to perform her duties as madam of the hive.

“Did you kill Grady?” Blue chirped in eagerness.

“Did he taste the way he smells?” Charlie said as she attempted to peek into Claire’s shopping bags. “I don’t think I’d like the flavor of gasoline and engine grease.”

“Did you leave any of his blood for us?” Echo said.

Claire’s gaze slid past Delta’s piercing stare.

“No,” she said. "Grady is still alive and I didn't take a single drop of his blood."

Blue, Echo, and Charlie deflated with disappointment and let out a collective huff.

“Blue, tail him during daylight hours and be back here by sunset,” Claire said. “Stick to the shadows, cover your skin, and stay far away from Grady. I want you to keep an eye on him and that’s all. Echo, you’ll take the night watch.”

Echo stuck out her tongue at Blue, triumphant in her victory of claiming the easier task. Blue wrinkled her nose and shoved Echo’s shoulder before she disappeared deeper into the hive to dress for daylight.

Claire carried her shopping bags up the stairs to her bedroom. The windows were blacked out, boarded over, and any cracks concealed with lilac curtains to block the slow creep of the sun. She set the bags on the floor as she sank onto the foot of her bed and kicked off her shoes.

“Do you have something to say to me, Delta?” Claire said without looking up.

Delta slipped into the doorway, silent and seething with disapproval. She crossed her arms and leaned one shoulder against the doorframe.

“Why didn’t you kill him?” she said.

Claire didn’t answer right away. It was a valid question, though she didn’t appreciate the challenge to her methods. As madam of the hive, Claire kept an eye on the vampires beneath her, watching for potential threats to her position should any of them become strong enough and daring enough to take her down.

Claire had known for a long time that if anyone would attempt to overthrow her, it would be Delta or Blue. Delta was the quiet one with psychopathic tendencies. Blue was the eager one with boundless energy and a natural position of leadership over the other vampires in the hive. Either one could challenge her. Either one could win.

Claire hooked her fingers into the backs of her heels and picked them up as she moved to the closet. She tucked the shoes into their empty slot on the shelf.

“I believe,” Claire said as she unbuttoned her blouse. “Grady may prove to be a valuable tool we can use against the other hunters. I don’t like the idea of leaving a hunter alive any more than you do, Delta. But the fight for survival is always changing. And if we don’t make the necessary changes to keep up, we will lose and I have no intention of doing that.”

Claire unhooked her nightgown from the clothes hanger and stepped out of the closet. Her gaze fell on Delta, solid and unwavering, searching for a challenge. Claire’s blouse was undone, her nightgown draped over one arm, and her hair was starting to frizz. She was a far cry from the crisp image of a madam. Delta might perceive that as a weakness.

Claire didn’t see a challenge in Delta’s posture or expression. But she did see displeasure over Claire’s decision to leave Grady alive. Delta wanted his blood. Badly.

Claire moved to the bathroom and turned on the bath, folding her nightgown and setting it on the sink’s counter. She twisted her hair up off of her neck and clipped it in place.

“Do you have any word on Mills?” she called.

“Nothing,” Delta replied. Her voice was icy with frustration. “He’s too good at disappearing. It makes me uneasy.”

 _With good reason,_  Claire thought. A hunter in the wind was an open invitation for an ambush.

“Keep looking,” she said. “Don’t stop until you find something. He has to slip up eventually.”

She unzipped her pencil skirt and let it drop to the ground, followed by her underwear. She perched on the edge of the tub, ran her hand under the water to test the temperature before she eased herself into the bath and closed her eyes.

She knew she was playing with fire, allowing Grady to get away. But Grady had a conscience, unlike the other hunters. And a conscience could be exploited without end if Claire got the right grip on him.

Judging by the way Grady had been looking at Claire in Isla Boutique, she had certainly found that grip. Now it was time to settle in comfortably and pull a few strings.

At first, Claire had refused to even consider this angle. She preferred to leave that line of tactics to others who were more proficient at it. She used teeth and claws and the threat of violence to maintain control, to protect her hive.

But it seemed there were an ever growing number of hunters these days. Vampires were dwindling far too quickly. And hunters were surprisingly vulnerable with their human appetites for alcohol, food, sex. She might as well use those chinks in their armor to her advantage.

Claire felt more than heard Delta approach to stand in the doorway.

“If Grady works alone,” Delta said. “How valuable can he really be against other hunters?”

Claire tilted her head back against the bathroom wall. Warm water pooled up around her neck, soaking stray tendrils of hair to her shoulders and throat.

“He might work alone,” Claire admitted. “But he does hold a certain…sway over the hunting community. They respect him and admire his skills. Staying alive as long as he has seems to have earned Grady a rapport that a majority of hunters are jealous of.”

A slow, wicked little smile crept into Delta’s voice.

“You think Grady is the key to taking out Hoskins and Mills?”

“Among others. We might as well diminish the population of hunters while we have our foot in the door.”

Delta tilted her head. Her stiff posture melted into pleased acceptance. She nodded.

“I’ll see if I can dig up anything on Mills,” she said.

“Keep an eye out for Hoskins, too. Blue caused a decent amount of damage but not enough to hold him down for long.”

“Understood.”

***

Claire stayed in the bath until it cooled before she finally climbed out, toweled herself off and pulled her nightgown on. She slid beneath the silk sheets of her bed and dropped into a cloud of pillows, eager to forget about Grady for a few blissful hours.

But it seemed she had barely closed her eyes before Echo came barreling into her room, shaking her awake again.

After years of avoiding sunlight, Claire could tell when the sun had set or risen without visual confirmation. The steady approach of dawn was like the crackle of a fire, ready to sear her skin. And yet, despite the midnight black state of her room, the burn of daylight was distant now, muted in the ink of night. She must have slept much longer than she had originally thought if the entire day had passed and it was well after sunset.

Echo hovered above her, features drawn tight with concern.

“What is it?” Claire said.

An image flashed across her mind of her girls massacred in the foyer, Owen Grady on his way up the stairs to her room, hands stained red from the blood of her hive.

“Blue is gone,” Echo said.

Claire’s stomach surged up her throat.

_“Gone?”_

“She was supposed to come back at sunset. But that was three hours ago and she still hasn't returned."

Claire swore under her breath and scrambled out of bed.

“When was her last report?”

“Six o'clock. Grady was coming out of a drugstore on the corner of Riveria Boulevard.”

“ _Grady_ ,” Claire hissed. “I should have killed him when I had the chance.”


	5. Chapter 5

Blue was one hell of a fighter.

Owen had noticed she was following him two hours earlier. After the drugstore, he made a detour through a bar, waiting in the alley for her.

It wasn’t an easy catch. Blue thrashed and kicked and shrieked. Her fingernails scratched down his forearm, leaving red gouges from elbow to wrist. But Owen finally managed to get her into the back of his truck, pulled a hood over her head and cuffed her in place.

During the drive back to his trailer, he could hear Blue bumping around in the back as she fought against the handcuffs.

It was full dark by the time Owen parked his car outside of his trailer. He hooked his arms around Blue’s waist and heaved her up onto his shoulder. She struggled, squirming in his grip like a worm on a hook.

“Take it easy, tiger,” he said, his voice pitched low in an attempt to calm her. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Liar,” she spat.

“That’s not a nice way to talk to someone you’ve just met.”

“Madam Dearing will bleed you dry for this,” Blue growled. “Slowly. While you’re still alive and you can feel the life pouring out of you.”

“Jesus,” Owen muttered. “Thank you for that gruesome picture.”

He carried Blue behind his trailer, out to the cage he had tucked in the back.

When vampires were particularly willful and didn’t want to provide the information Owen was looking for, he put them in the cage, with no food for a few days to make them antsy. They managed to hold out for a little while, surviving off of the blood of small rodents and birds that wandered through the chain link fence. But eventually, he wore them down to the point that they cooperated and told him everything he needed to know.

However, he had different plans for Blue.

Owen dropped Blue in the cage and closed the door, tugging the three padlocks closed. Blue ripped off her hood and glared at him.

“You’re dead meat,” she said through her teeth.

“If I had a nickel for every time I heard that,” Owen replied.

Blue lunged at the cage, fingers hooked outward, nails nearly catching on the collar of Owen’s shirt. Owen leaned back, just out of reach.

“Since we’ll be spending some time together,” he said. “I think we’d better introduce ourselves. Which one are you?”

Blue snatched her hand back, mouth sealed shut, sullen and silent.

“Okay. We’ll start with me. I’m Owen.”

“I know who you are,” Blue said in a flat tone.

“Of course you do.” Owen tilted his head. “Let me take a guess here. Delta?”

Blue said nothing.

“Echo?”

No response.

“Charlie?”

Blue shook her head and turned away, pacing the walls of the cage, surveying the ceiling. Searching for a weak spot, an escape route.

“It must be Blue then,” he said.

Blue kept her back turned to him, shutting him out.

“Don’t worry,” Owen said. “As soon as your boss shows up, you’ll be out of here in no time.”

Blue’s shoulders went stiff. She cocked her head until Owen could see her profile but she didn’t look directly at him. It seemed like she was…listening. For something he couldn’t hear.

Owen’s phone went off in his pocket. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen and grimaced when he saw Hoskins’ number.

“You should answer that,” Blue said. Her voice had shifted, from cold-blooded killer, to sweet and light, as if she had a piece of the puzzle that he didn’t.

Owen scraped his teeth over his bottom lip as he deliberated then finally answered it.

“What do you want, Hoskins?” he said.

“Heard you caught a vampire,” Hoskins replied. “One of Dearing’s brood.”

Owen studied Blue as she gazed up at the ceiling. She curled her fingers into the fence and tugged, making the metal rattle and sway. Testing the boundaries to see how far and how hard she needed to push to earn her freedom.

He would consider it a miracle if Blue stayed in that cage for more than twenty-four hours.

“Spying on me again,” Owen said. “Haven’t we discussed this already?”

“Relax, Grady,” Hoskins said, annoyed. “You were in the city. I’ve got eyes everywhere. My boys saw you head out with the girl.”

“Your point, Hoskins?”

“What do you plan to do with her? You’ve obviously got something in mind since you’re keeping her alive.”

Owen gritted his teeth. He really didn’t want to explain his position to Hoskins who would turn it around to his advantage.

“You’re using her as bait,” Hoskins said.

Blue glanced over her shoulder at Owen with a sly look. She rattled the cage as hard as she could until the metal clanged deafeningly loud in the night. Owen didn’t flinch.

Blue smiled and raised an eyebrow. A challenge. Trying to mess with his head. If threats, fear, and bloodshed wouldn’t scare him, she would try other tactics until she got him to cave.

“The rest of the hive will come for her,” Owen said, his gaze on Blue, unblinking and steady.

Blue frowned and let her hand drop to her side. She turned away and kicked at the ground, looking for a hole or a soft spot in the dirt. Owen covered his phone with one hand.

“Steel plates are buried ten feet down,” he said. “Good luck digging out.”

Blue’s jaw twitched and she threw a rock at the fence. It bounced off and clattered to the ground, skidding in the dirt.

Owen shook his head with a disappointed expression.

“You can do better than that,” he said.

He removed his hand from his phone to hear Hoskins still running his mouth off.

“Do you really think Dearing will fall for that shit?” he said. “She’s a cold bitch. Maybe she’ll let her whelp starve.”

Owen never really liked Hoskins that much. But his abrasive attitude had finally frayed Owen’s last nerve.  

Three times, Owen had come face to face with Claire Dearing and she hadn’t even tried to kill him. He was beginning to think she wasn’t as frigid as her reputation made her out to be.

Instead, she used that reputation, allowing the world to think of her as a heartless monster that wanted nothing more than to feed. The last thing she would do was let one of her own starve to death. Not that Hoskins would ever understand that.

Blue sat down at the back of the cage, leaning against the far wall. She drew her knees up to her chest as she faced Owen and fixed him with a hard stare.

In that moment, watching Blue in her cage, Owen realized how young she looked. Barely more than a teenager. Granted, she was a vampire and she could have been turned centuries ago, making her several hundred years old.

But there was something about the way Blue moved, the way she carried herself and spoke, that demonstrated a lack of experience. She was well-trained, he had to admit. Claire was raising a proper herd of serial killers.

Although Blue still had a lot left to learn. Like how to avoid getting caught by a human.

“Dearing will be here,” he said. “I’m counting on it.”


	6. Chapter 6

For hours, Claire paced circles around Owen’s property. He wouldn’t leave Blue’s side for more than a minute or two. He disappeared into the trailer only to return a second later with a slab of meat on a cooking tray.

She could smell the iron in the blood all the way from her vantage point. Raw. Wet. Earthy and crisp.

Cow meat. Dirt cheap, too.

It wasn’t the food Blue was used to at the hive—salmon and sushi, pheasant and Cornish game hens. But at least Owen wasn’t starving her.

Although Claire still didn’t like the fact that one of her girls was locked in a cage like an animal.

Then another scent drifted to her on the wind.

Cigarettes and stale beer.

“Hoskins,” she spat.

She’d known this was a trap and Blue was the bait. But to have it proven to her—and so sloppily too, as if they weren’t even trying to hide the fact that it was a setup and Claire would simply waltz right in—made hot anger boil in her stomach.

Claire fished her phone from her jacket pocket and found Owen’s number. She pressed dial and waited.

One ring. Two rings.

Silence.

Owen slid the cooking sheet of meat through a slot in the cage’s door. Blue remained on the far side of the cage, motionless, glaring at him.

_Good girl,_ Claire thought. _Don’t let him get to you. Don’t let him soften you. Stay vicious._

Owen crouched beside the cage, elbows resting on his knees as he watched Blue. He gestured to the meat, no doubt attempting to coax her into eating. But she wouldn’t budge.

Owen bowed his head with a nod and retreated from the cage. He moved to a pile of metal scraps heaped on the gravel driveway. Must have been the remnants of his motorcycle. He pulled an overturned bucket closer to serve as a seat, retrieved a few tools from a box on the ground and got to work.

Occasionally, he glanced over his shoulder to look at Blue. But she hadn’t moved, hadn’t even shifted her position. She remained under the thin, mouse-eaten tarp where no sunlight could reach her once dawn arrived in a few hours.

Claire tried three times to call Owen. But each call went straight to voice mail.

“Fine,” Claire said through her teeth. “If you want to ignore me, we’ll play it the hard way.”

Claire flicked to Delta’s number.

“Any word on Mills?” Claire said.

“He was at a coffee shop half an hour ago,” Delta replied. “I’m on his scent and I’m close. Very close. I’ll have him within minutes.”

“Good. I need him to get a message to Grady for me.”

“What about Blue?” Delta said. “Is she…?”

The pause of dread lingered over the phone. Neither of them wanted to say that word – dead.

“She’s alive,” Claire said. “But I don’t know for how long. Contact me the moment you have Mills.”

“Got it.”


	7. Chapter 7

Owen ignored the tinny refrain of his phone ringing and ringing and ringing. He knew who it was and he refused to have that conversation over the phone with Claire. The whole point was to get her on his turf again. To draw her out of the shadows and into the light.

But he should have known she would fight back with everything she had.

An hour of silence passed. His confidence in Claire’s next move didn’t waver. She would come to get Blue. He knew that without a doubt.

He wished she would hurry up though. Do something soon. Waiting around like this was making him itchy.

His phone rang again. He let it go to voice mail for the fourth time.

Owen knew he was toying with Claire’s patience, putting him in a position he couldn’t afford. He was already walking a fine line with her. Testing her like this, angering her on purpose, would not do him any favors.

At this rate, when Claire finally did decide to show up, she’d probably have no desire to keep him alive anymore simply for ignoring her phone calls.

He never really expected to live a long life but he certainly hadn’t pictured going down like that—throat ripped out for brushing off a vampire’s phone calls. He’d always preferred the blaze of glory theory…

A distant noise caught his attention, muted and faint. It wasn’t his phone, tucked in his back pocket, still and silent. But it did sound like ringing. And it was coming from the direction of his truck.

He kept a spare burner phone in the glove compartment for emergencies. But Claire wouldn’t have that number.

Owen stood, wiping his greasy hands on his jeans. He cast a glance at Blue as he moved to his truck, partly to see how she was doing, partly out of habit to keep an eye on any vampires within the vicinity.

She remained in the same position she’d been holding for the past few hours—her back to the cage’s wall, elbows propped on her knees, glaring at him.

She hadn’t touched the food he’d given her. Didn’t look like she intended to either.

“You know,” he said. “I can get you something else if you’re not really into rare steak at its bloodiest. Just thought that was your thing.”

Blue didn’t respond.

“Would you prefer pizza instead? Ice-cream? Doughnuts?”

No answer.

He paused. “…salads? Organic kale? Please say no. That would be…weird. And I definitely don’t have that lying around.”

Blue didn’t even blink.

“Damn,” Owen muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’d make a great marine. All right then. Let me know if you change your mind. Even if it’s kale. Which I hope it isn’t.”

He reached the truck and opened the door. He dug around in the glove compartment, past a first aid kit, wooden stakes, a spare pistol, and fake licenses, until he found the burner phone.

Mills’ number.

Mills had been in the wind for weeks. He’d gone radio silent ever since the attack on Hoskins. Owen had written him off, assumed that he’d opted out of the hunting life and decided to play it straight instead.

Owen pressed the talk button.

“Thought you bailed, Mills,” he said.

A wet, rattling gasp echoed on the other end of the line.

Owen went cold. He knew the sound of agony when he heard it.

“Owen,” Mills rasped.

“Mills, what’s going on?” Owen said, his voice strained. He retrieved his pistol from the glove compartment and scanned the surrounding landscape, searching for any signs of Claire.

All he could see was within the thin circle of light provided by the street lamp—the wreck of his motorcycle, his truck, and Blue’s cage.

Claire was the one with night vision. If she was out there, she could see him plain as day.

“It’s…it’s Claire Dearing,” Mills said. He coughed, accompanied by a gagging sound like he was…choking.

“Shit,” Owen growled. He scrambled into the cab of the truck and slid from the passenger’s side into the driver’s seat as he jabbed the key into the ignition.

“Talk to me, Mills,” he said. “Is she there with you right now? Did she get to you?”

“Yes.”

“Yes? Yes to what?”

“All of it.”

Owen smacked the flat of his palm against the steering wheel in frustration. If Claire was there already, there was no way Owen could get to Mills in time. He didn’t even know where Mills was hiding out. But he was a dead man if Claire Dearing was standing over him, his blood on her hands.

“Dearing,” Mills continued. “She wants…wants me to…tell you something.”

Owen bowed his head with a heavy sigh. He knew where this was going and it wasn’t good.

“I’m listening,” he said.

“Dearing…said to release…release Blue.” Mills broke off to suck in a rough breath. “Or the bodies will begin…piling up.”

A pause settled on the other end of the line. Owen could still hear Mills, fighting for each labored intake of air. Owen closed his eyes, listening for any sounds in the background that might provide a clue, give him some kind of an advantage. Anything at all.

Then he heard it. Muffled and quiet. But definitely Claire’s voice.

“What else?”

“Can’t…breathe,” Mills rasped.

“Say it.”

Mills made a distressed sound between a whimper and a groan. Maybe Owen was wrong about Claire. It seemed she was just as cold-hearted as her reputation made her out to be.

“Owen?” Mills said.

“Still here,” Owen replied.

“There’s…one last thing. She’ll start with me if you don’t…let Blue go.”

Claire’s voice again, cool and detached.

“Good boy,” she said. “Now give me the phone.”

A rustle of fabric. Mills’ breathing fell away to be replaced with icy silence.

“Did you hear that Grady?” Claire said in a low purr. “Your fellow hunter is dying. And he uses his last breath to beg for your mercy. I find that poetic.”

“If you want Blue, come get her,” Owen said.

Claire laughed lightly, pretending to be unaffected. But the way she’d bloodied Mills—doing God only knew what to him—showed that she wasn’t as unaffected as she seemed. She was _pissed._

“Do you really want to make demands here, Grady?” she said. “I’ve already mentioned the price of not following my orders to the letter.”

A shout of pain resonated in the background. Owen squeezed his eyes shut, his forehead pressed to the steering wheel.

He’d never really connected well with Mills. Owen preferred to get his hands dirty when he hunted and Mills didn’t. But Mills was a hunter and hunters watched each other’s backs, no matter what.

Owen was failing Mills now, leaving him at Claire’s mercy like this—or lack of mercy, it seemed.

“I want to talk, Claire. That’s all.”

“Kidnapping one of my girls doesn’t seem like the proper way to invite me over for a chat.”

“Would you have showed up if I asked nicely?”

A pause.

“Call off your bulldog Hoskins first,” she said.

Owen frowned. “He’s not with me.”

“Apparently he doesn’t know that.”

Owen covered his phone with his hand and thunked his head back against the seat.

“I’ll fucking kill him,” he muttered under his breath. He turned the key in the ignition, gunned the engine, and peeled out of the driveway so fast that he sent a spray of gravel chattering against the side of his trailer.

After a moment, he raised the phone to his ear again.

“Consider it done,” he said. “I’ll get rid of Hoskins.”

“Good,” Claire said. “Because if you don’t, you know I will. If we’re going to talk about Blue, I don’t want any pesky interruptions. Clear?”

“Crystal.”

Owen hung up and tossed the phone onto the passenger’s seat.

Hoskins had no imagination. He liked to pretend he played aggressively but when it came right down to it, he didn’t have the ingenuity to pull of any decent moves that would gain him the upper hand.

So, it was easy to track him down. Perched on a bluff overlooking Owen’s trailer with three of his men flanking him. A usual lookout spot for him when he was hanging around Owen, providing backup.

He sucked on a fat cigar as he sat on the ground by the wheel of his Jeep, a Budweiser sweating on the asphalt beside him.

Owen had barely put his truck in park before he was out of it, striding toward Hoskins.

Hoskins rose to his feet with a smirk.

“I’m impressed with the girl,” he said. “Thought she would have escaped by now and torn your heart out with her bare—”

Owen punched him in the face. Pain flared in his hand but he barely registered it from the heat of anger that swept through him.

Hoskins swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, leaving a smear of red on his cheek.

Blood. That should make Claire happy.

“What the hell was that for?” Hoskins demanded.

“Get off my property,” Owen said. “Final warning. I don’t like being spied on.”

“But Dearing—”

“She’s mine. Leave. Before I start shooting. And don’t come anywhere near me unless I’ve given you permission to do so. Understood?”

“Jesus Christ, Grady,” Hoskins said. “You really want to go solo on this? You’re insane to take on Dearing by yourself.”

“I’ll handle her.”

Hoskins’ jaw clenched and he huffed.

“Your funeral,” he said at last. “Let’s go, boys. We’re not wanted here.”

He climbed into his Jeep, revved the engine for show as his men clambered into the back, then he took off.

It wasn’t until Hoskins was well out of sight and Owen was alone on the road in the night that he spread his arms out to either side.

“I’m all yours, Claire!” he shouted.

The only response he received was the echo of his voice bouncing back to him.


	8. Chapter 8

Delta stood over Mills as he knelt on the basement floor.

He’d been squatting in a foreclosed house on the far side of town for the past three weeks. It looked as if he’d sequestered himself in the basement during all that time and hadn’t seen the light of day.

Half a dozen computer monitors took up every available flat surface, from wobbly tables to mildewed cardboard boxes. Garbage was piled in one corner, long since spilling over the edges of a trash can. The rank stench of musty earth hung thick in the stale air.

“I must admit,” Claire said. “You had me fooled. I never would have considered you might hole up in a place like this. I thought you were…better than that.”

Mills made no reply. He pressed a hand to the side of his neck where Delta had cut him with her teeth—not much more than a pinch. But humans had the inconvenient habit of bleeding profusely.

“Delta, let’s go,” Claire said, turning away.

Delta frowned. “We’re leaving him alive?”

Claire cast a bored look over her shoulder. “Not for long.”

Delta wavered for a moment. Then she raised an eyebrow and her gaze slid over to Mills with a smile.

“Can I have him?” she said.

Claire sighed and examined her pale lavender fingernails.

“No,” she said. “Blue is our priority.”

“Why can’t we finish him off now?”

“Because I won’t waste a single second on a human when Blue is still in Grady’s hands.”

Delta hummed in agreement. She shot a hungry look at Mills before she climbed the stairs of the basement. Claire paused with her hand on the railing.

Mills appeared so small. Insignificant. Weak.

Sometimes, Claire remembered what it was like to be human. She missed the feel of sunlight on her skin and the pleasant warm buzz from a glass of wine at dinner.

But watching Mills huddled there on the floor, the sticky-sweet smell of his blood filling the enclosed space of the basement, she wondered how she could have ever wanted to be human.

***

Claire didn’t smell Hoskins this time when she approached Owen’s trailer. She didn’t smell anyone else at all, except Owen and only a hint of Blue.

But when Claire glanced at the cage, Blue wasn’t there.

She inhaled a slow, steady breath. Blue wasn’t dead. She would know by the blood scent alone.

Then where was she? What did Owen do with her?

The trailer’s door opened and Owen stepped out, his hand on the door knob. He wore an off-white Henley with dark jeans and the usual heavy biker boots.

“Come on in,” he said.

“Where’s Blue?” Claire demanded.

“Not here.”

“I can see that.”

A smirk lifted the corner of Owen’s mouth and he disappeared into the trailer. The door slid closed behind him with a thump of finality.

Claire didn’t want to go in there with him. Tight quarters. Unknown territory. She didn’t like it.

But she clenched her teeth anyway and marched up the steps. She pulled the door open and stepped inside.

Owen sat in an armchair to the right, a beer open on the table next to him, though untouched. He rose to his feet at her appearance.

“Can I get you anything—?” Owen started.

Claire lunged.

She shoved him in the shoulders so hard that he stumbled backward and dropped into the seat again. She clamped a hand around his throat, fingernails flexed to almost breaking the skin.

The only sound in the trailer was the harsh rasp of their breathing.

“Release my vampire,” Claire growled. “Now.”

Owen let out a strangled laugh of surprise. “Okay, well, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when I said, ‘let’s talk’. But I can work with it I guess.”

Claire grabbed a fistful of Owen’s hair and yanked his head to the side, exposing his throat.

“Tell me where Blue is,” she said. “And I might make your death a little less painful.”

Owen grunted and shifted in an attempt to gain some leverage. Claire tightened her grip on his throat. Beads of blood blossomed on his neck beneath her fingertips, sliding down to stain the collar of his shirt.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Owen said in a rush. “I just…” He released a puff of air. “I don’t think you’ll do it. You won’t kill me.”

“Why is that?”

Owen’s gaze tracked up to her face. She could see the shift in his expression, from concerned to coy.

“You know,” he said. “I’m not opposed to getting physical. All you had to do was ask.”

Claire bared her teeth with a hiss, fangs protruding. He’d been egging her on for a long time, cocky and so sure of himself that he could say and do anything he wanted without repercussions.

“Who bit you?” Owen said.

Claire blinked. The sudden change of topic put her off-balance. Her spine went rigid, her shoulders tense and tight.

“None of your business,” she said.

“Usually it’s a boyfriend. Or a fiancé. Someone close to you.”

“Shut up.”

“Husband?”

Claire’s grip on Owen’s windpipe constricted.

In one fluid motion, Owen surged forward at the same time that he kicked out at Claire’s knee. Her feet went out from under her and she hit the floor, flat on her back.

In a heartbeat, Owen was on top of her. Claire lashed out at his face with her fingernails. He caught her wrist with a deft twist that put just enough pressure to make her uncomfortable, but not enough to break bones, even though he had the power to.

Claire squirmed, searching for another plan of attack.

“No, no, no,” Owen said. “I don’t think so.”

He pushed his hips between her knees, his jeans rough and harsh against the softness of her legs. The full length of his torso was nearly pressed to hers, pinning her to the floor.

Claire hadn’t come prepared for a grappling session. She wore a short, black lace dress that was now hiked obscenely high around her thighs.

“Bastard,” Claire said through her teeth.

“Says the woman who was about to kick me in the family jewels,” Owen replied. “It was written all over your face.”

“Let me go.”

A slow smile of victory curved Owen’s lips.

“I will,” he said. “Eventually. But not yet.”

“What do you want then?”

Owen paused, trailing his tongue along his bottom lip as he considered.

“Two things,” he said.

“I’m not agreeing until you give me details,” Claire retorted.

“Somehow I just knew you’d say that.”

His tone—breezy and casual, as if they hadn’t been wrestling a second ago—made Claire uneasy for what would come out of his mouth next.

“First thing,” Owen said. “Tell me who bit you. And no lying.”

Claire huffed. “My sister.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Your…sister?”

Good. Judging by the surprise in his voice, Owen hadn’t figured out that Claire had a sister. He knew so much about her already after years of hunting her but at least that small piece of information had been unavailable to him. Until now anyway.

“She’s been madam longer than I have to another hive.”

“Where?”

“Not here,” Claire replied smugly.

Owen rolled his eyes. “I figured as much. Two madams never inhabit the same area within a hundred miles of each other.” He paused, studying her for a moment. “How did it happen?”

Claire really didn’t want to talk about this. Especially to Owen Grady of all people. But she wanted Blue back.

“I asked her to,” Claire said.

Owen stared at her, steady and unwavering. Claire fidgeted. But the movement only served as an uncomfortable reminder that too much of Owen was pressed against her.

“What?” Claire demanded, acidic, sharp. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“You chose to die,” Owen said quietly.

Claire sighed, patience dwindling fast.

“Think about the advantages of a vampire,” she said. “Think of all those things you dread when you hunt me. Or Blue. Or any of my girls. Immortality. Power. Better reflexes. Better sight, smell, hearing. Better everything.”

Owen made a non-committal noise. His gaze shifted, from studious to something Claire didn’t like to look at head-on.

“What’s the second thing?” Claire said. “This floor is cold and you’ve made me wait long enough to see Blue.”

“Dinner. With me.”

Claire snorted, a refusal on the tip of her tongue. There was no need to set up another trap. Owen already had her under his power right now. Then why the proposal in the first place?

Then again, dinner would be an easy solution. She had the feeling that Owen was the kind of man to take the secret of Blue’s location to his grave. If she killed him, she might never see Blue again.

“Where?” Claire said.

“Shangri-La Bar on East Fifty-Third,” Owen replied. “I can’t say you’ll find much in the way of a blood menu. But the beer is decent.”

“Fine. Now get off of me.”

Owen pushed back on his heels and released her wrist. Claire scrambled to her feet, smoothing her skirt down. He remained kneeling on the floor, his hands resting atop his thighs.

“How does seven-thirty sound?” Owen said. “Tomorrow.”

“Show me Blue first.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“She isn’t here.”

“Then take me to her,” Claire said, impatient.

“She’s safe right where she is. I promise.”

“I don’t want empty promises. I want to see Blue.”

Owen held out his hand. “Okay. Give me your phone.”

Claire fixed him with a level stare. She retrieved her phone from her pocket and tossed it to him, not willing to get too close after so much physical contact a moment ago.

Owen tapped in a number and the phone rang. He tossed it back to Claire.

“Hello?”

Blue’s voice. Small and far away, crackly with static.

“Blue?” Claire said with a laugh of relief. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.”

There was no trace of strain in her voice. No sound of aggravation or stress.

“Where are you?” Claire said.

“I don’t know. Owen moved me to a nice little room.”

 _Owen._ Not Grady.

Claire’s gaze darted over to Owen. He hadn’t moved from his kneeling position on the floor.

“Tell me more,” she said. _Give me a clue. A landmark. A sound. A smell. Anything definitive to help me find you._

“There’s a mattress with the softest blankets I’ve ever felt. Big fluffy pillows. They’re pink which is gross. I told him that, too. He promised to get me some red ones later.”

Claire didn’t stop looking at Owen. He met her gaze, making no attempt to cut off the conversation.

He knew.

He knew Blue couldn’t tell Claire anything about her location. He’d clearly proven that he could gain the upper hand by sheer strength and strategic maneuvering alone. But he didn’t need to. He had Blue. And he was well aware that she was the only leverage he needed.

“There are no windows,” Blue continued. “Just white walls. No pictures or anything. I do have a bathroom. No shower but there’s running water. And plenty of fresh steak in a small refrigerator in the corner.”

Running water. A private bathroom. A steady supply of food.

Owen was taking care of Blue properly. Not caging her up like a monster.

“I miss you though,” Blue sighed. “And the other girls. When are you coming to get me?”

“Soon,” Claire replied. “Very soon.”

She hung up, never breaking her gaze from Owen.

“There’s too much sunlight at seven-thirty,” she said. “Make it nine.”

Owen grinned. “Deal.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all this chapter was a biiiiitch. Thank you SO MUCH for your patience with my tortoise update! ♥

Shangri-La was far from Owen’s usual stomping grounds.

But judging by Claire’s taste in clothes, he had one shot to make a decent impression as he navigated this oh-so-tentative parlay he had constructed with her.

If Owen dared to name some dive bar in a back alley that he was more familiar with, Claire would bail on him in a heartbeat.

Nine o’clock arrived.

And passed.

Five minutes ticked by. Owen released a heavy sigh and slid deeper into his seat, stretching his legs out in front of him as he drummed his hands on the table.

Just when he was about to admit defeat and accept that Claire had stood him up, the door opened.

Claire stepped in, wearing a pale lavender silk skirt and a white halter top. Her hair had been twisted up off of her neck, apart from a few tendrils curling soft and loose around her face.

It might have been a convincing summer look…apart from the severe black caged stilettos she wore—a reminder that she was a weapon and she wouldn’t hesitate to go for the killing blow if necessary.

Owen stood as she approached and pulled out her chair for her. Claire’s gaze flicked over him and she raised an eyebrow.

“Board shorts and flip-flops?” she said.

He shrugged. “It’s casual. Kind of hard to conceal a weapon like this.”

Claire pressed her lips into a thin line. She couldn’t argue that point, even though she looked like she really wanted to.

Owen gestured to the chair, waiting for her to sit.

“Why is it empty?” Claire said, glancing around the barren restaurant.

“I figured dinner with one human was bad enough. You shouldn’t have to suffer a room full of us.”

“And I suppose it’s a precaution on your end. If I go on a killing spree, you would be the sole casualty.”

“Something like that,” Owen replied. “Cost a small fortune to have this place to ourselves for the night, just so you know.”

Claire gave a thoughtful hum and, seemingly satisfied with Owen’s answer, finally took a seat in her chair.

Owen released a short breath of relief. The hardest part was over. Now all he had to do was survive the night, locked in a restaurant alone with a vampire.

***

As Owen had requested—supported by a wad of cash—the chef had left an entire meal prepared and ready to go in the walk-in refrigerator. Most of it was too fancy and French for Owen to pronounce. But there was meat, wine, and a dainty chocolate dessert so it seemed all the bases were covered.

Claire waited, hands folded in her lap, as Owen slid a plate of food in front of her.

“Why didn’t you kill her when you had the chance?” she said out of nowhere.

Owen paused on his way to his own seat. “You know the point of a date is small talk, right?”

“This isn’t a date.”

Owen pointed to his dinner, gesturing to the delicate curl of salad greens and the artfully arranged pale pink dressing in swirls along the plate’s rim.

“I certainly don’t eat this way for fun,” he said.

Claire balled up her napkin and tossed it on the table. “I’d prefer to get straight to business. Meaning: Blue.”

Owen nodded and set his plate down. “I’m gonna go grab beer. Do you want anything?”

Before Claire could protest, he took off for the kitchen. He was walking a fine line and he knew it. She didn’t wish to be here any longer than necessary and stalling wouldn’t do him any favors.

When Owen returned to the table, a beer in one hand, a bottle of wine and a glass in the other, Claire was looking impatient and pissed off. She folded her arms, leaning back in her chair, toes flexed to jut the heel of her shoe out like a knife.

Owen set the glass in front of her, keeping his gaze trained on the task at hand instead of making eye contact with Claire. He popped the cork on the bottle, splashing a generous helping of red wine into the glass.

“I never said I wanted red wine,” Claire said in a flat voice.

Owen shrugged. “Lucky guess. Didn’t think you were a tequila kind of girl.”

“I’m not.”

“Then it’s a win-win.”

Owen pulled out his chair and settled in.

“In answer to your question,” he said. He paused, studied the label of his beer, rubbing his thumb along the lettering. “I don’t know.”

“You’ve been hunting my kind for a long time, Owen,” Claire said, annoyance creeping into her tone sharper and sharper. “That kind of answer is unacceptable.”

Owen spread his hands. “It’s the truth.”

“It’s your _job_.”

“I could say the same for you.”

Claire’s eyebrows shot up and a dark glint flashed in her eyes. Owen’s fingers gripped his beer bottle a little tighter, steeling himself against such a chilling look.

“Excuse me?” Claire said, the low growl of a challenge.

“You’ve had plenty of opportunities to bleed me dry,” Owen replied. “But you haven’t carried through with it.” He let that statement sink in before he added, “I’m beginning to think you’re not as heartless as you want the world to believe.”

Claire faltered. A fraction of a second. Barely perceptible. If Owen had blinked, he would have missed it entirely. Then she squared her shoulders.

“That still doesn’t answer my question.”

Owen leaned back in his chair. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

Claire ran her tongue along her teeth in what might have been a threat or thoughtful consideration. It was hard to tell the difference.

“You’ve worn my patience thin enough as it is. I suggest you stop pushing your luck.”

Owen raised a hand in surrender. “All right, all right. Let’s just say I’ve been…reassessing a few things. When I left the Navy, I had a hard time finding a job where I wasn’t bored out of my mind. I heard about hunting vampires. The money was good. No boss to answer to. So, I thought I’d give it a shot.”

“And it suited you well,” Claire said.

“Sure. Up to a point. But I’ve been drinking the kool-aid a little too long.”

Claire frowned. “What does that mean?”

“When you’re in a fight to survive, you don’t really have much time to stop and consider the information you’ve been spoon-fed for God only knows how many years. I’ve always believed vampires were blood-thirsty killing machines but Blue…she’s a good kid. Despite the teeth,” Owen added, gesturing to his mouth.

“So you’re saying…?” Claire began, cautiously.

“We could change the rules. If we wanted to. Make a new world where humans and vampires lived side by side.”

Claire shook her head with a laugh of disbelief. “You’re _insane_. That will never happen.”

Owen shrugged. “Some people might have said the same thing for our little dinner date tonight but we seem to be doing just fine.”

Claire opened her mouth to speak then closed it again and looked away, blinking and bewildered.

She was so quiet and…scattered after his suggestion. The fact that she didn’t outright refuse him proved she was considering it. She wanted it, impossible as it may seem. But it wouldn’t be easy. And she wouldn’t be the only one putting herself on the line.

“What if I say no?” Claire said at last.

“Nothing changes,” Owen replied. “We continue to fight like cats and dogs.”

“And Blue? What about her?”

“She’s yours. No matter what you decide.”

Claire cast him a sideways glance. “It can’t be that simple. You’ve gone through too much trouble to just…let her go without a scratch.”

“We made a deal,” Owen said. “Dinner and a nice chat in exchange for Blue. I might not have a great track record with you, or any vampire for that matter. But I’m a man of my word.”

Claire was silent. She turned her head aside, her expression as flawless as carved marble. She smoothed her skirt over her knee, not meeting his eye.

“I’ll need time to think about it,” she said.

“Fair enough.”

Claire nodded once with finality. As she rose to leave, Owen spoke.

“Before you go, there’s chocolate cake in the refrigerator. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

Claire studied him for a moment then tilted her head to the side, gesturing toward the kitchen.

“After you,” she said.

Owen abandoned his beer on the table and smothered the scream of his instincts when Claire fell into step behind him. Never in his life had he voluntarily allowed a vampire to stand at his back.

Then again, he’d never had dinner with a vampire either. Unarmed, no less.

Tonight, it seemed, was chock full of firsts for him.

Despite the relatively amiable course of the evening, Owen still caught himself releasing a small breath of relief when Claire stopped at the counter and didn’t follow him to the refrigerator.

When Owen retrieved the cake and turned around, Claire was perched on the edge of the counter, examining a steak knife. As she ran her thumb over the blade, Owen’s heart stutter-skipped.

“And here I thought we were doing so well,” he said.

Claire set the knife on the counter and pushed it away, far enough that neither one of them could have it. Not that Claire needed it anyway.

“I was only looking,” she replied.

Owen placed the plate on the counter between them and held out a spoon to her.

“May I offer a less intimidating weapon?” he said.

“You have no idea what kind of damage I could do with a spoon.”

“And I hope to God I never find out.”

Claire ducked her head to hide a smile, scooping into the chocolate.

“It’s not a cake, by the way,” she said. “It’s a torte. There’s a difference.”

“My mistake. I’m still in the uncultured human swine stage. I haven’t transformed into a vampire butterfly yet.”

For the first time, Claire breathed a soft laugh. It looked so…light on her. So normal. Owen blinked, struggling to comprehend what he was seeing play out right in front of him.

Claire held up a spoonful of chocolate torte to him.

“Cake is lighter,” she said. “Open textured, like bread or biscuits. Torte is smoother. Rich. Like cream.”

Owen leaned forward and closed his mouth around Claire’s spoon. The moment his tongue touched the chocolate, he raised his eyebrows in approval and glanced up at Claire.

Something shifted in Claire’s eyes as her spoon slid out of Owen’s lips. Her gaze dropped to his mouth with a tattle-tale flicker of her eyelashes.

Owen knew that look. Attraction, it seemed, wore the same expression on humans as well as vampires.

And he was about to dive head first into territory that was far more dangerous than hunting had ever been.

Owen pushed the chocolate torte out of the way. Claire slid across the counter as Owen reached for her, his hand settling on her waist to pull her closer. She swung her legs over the edge of the counter, her skirt bunched up around her thighs.

Owen pushed his hips between Claire’s knees, plowing his fingers through Claire’s hair. Bobby pins plinked to the counter top, skittering across the floor as her hair came loose, spilling into Owen’s hands.

In the span of a heartbeat, Claire and Owen collided, a kiss of sweet chocolate and the sharp clip of Claire’s fangs on Owen’s bottom lip.

He broke away with a nervous little sound in the back of his throat.

“You’re not going to…you know…turn me, are you?” he said.

“Owen,” Claire said in a flat voice. She hooked one leg around his hips, her stiletto pressing against the back of his knee.

“I have no intention of biting you,” she said. “I thought you would’ve figured that out by now. Don’t make me change my mind by asking stupid questions.”

Owen let his hand come to rest on top of Claire’s thigh, his thumb brushing back and forth atop her knee. She held his gaze with a steady look, daring him to continue. He slid his hand higher, past the hem of her skirt. He dipped his head to brush a kiss to her shoulder and closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of her skin—vanilla. Sweet. Clean.

Owen curled two fingers under the lace edge of Claire’s underwear and tugged it down. She looped her arm around his neck for support as she raised her hips up from counter, allowing him to pull her underwear off completely, letting it drop to the floor.

Owen leaned forward, laying Claire across the counter. Her fingers wandered idly along the back of his neck, trailing over his shoulders. He hooked his hands behind Claire’s knees and eased her legs apart without looking away from her, gauging whether this was what she truly wanted.

Claire traced one fingertip down Owen’s jawline to his chin, following the line of his lips. He lowered his head and pressed a long, slow kiss to Claire’s neck, where her pulse-point should be, though he felt no pulse. He moved lower to her collarbone, peeking out from beneath the halter top and kissed her again.

Another kiss between her breasts.

Another kiss to her stomach.

Another kiss to her hip.

Another kiss to the inside of her knee.

Owen brushed his lips along Claire’s thigh. She clutched at her skirt, pulling it out of the way. He hooked her legs over his shoulders and slid his hands under her hips.

When Owen’s mouth finally closed over her, Claire’s fingers locked around the back of his head, holding him in place with a breathless _oh._


	10. Chapter 10

There was a vampire in his bed and she was gorgeous.

Claire lay on her stomach, her head turned away from him, arms tucked under the pillow. The sheets had bunched around her waist, exposing the creamy smoothness of her bare back.

Owen traced a fingertip down her spine, warm to the touch.

For so long, he had believed vampires to be ice cold. Undead creatures who felt nothing, incapable of logic, reason, emotions. Seeking only blood to take the edge off of their insatiable, savage hunger.

And yet it seemed Claire continued to prove him wrong. Over and over again.

The glide of Claire’s skin beneath his hand was addictive, heady as wine. Like a moth to the flame, Owen kept coming back for more, no matter how dangerous it could be.

In the back of his mind, he remembered leaving his phone on the bedside table. All he had to do was call Hoskins. Once a hive madam was trapped, the underlings would scatter or starve without her command. Unless a new madam was appointed.

There had been a time when the prospect of taking down an entire hive with one phone call wouldn’t even make Owen hesitate.

Now…

The thought simply remained idle and listless in his head until it evaporated from consideration altogether.

Owen leaned forward and kissed Claire’s shoulder. He placed another kiss at the curve of her neck, nuzzling her earlobe.

“Looking for something?” Claire said in a remarkably clear voice, suggesting she had been awake for much longer than Owen realized. If she had slept at all to begin with.

“Not really,” he replied, skimming his lips down her back. “What do vampires eat for breakfast? Open up a vein and start slurping like a smoothie?”

Claire huffed. “You’re not funny.”

She turned over to face him, pulling the sheet up over her chest, yet leaving the curve of her hip exposed. Her hair, usually flawless, was tousled with a halo of red-gold frizz. It made her look less severe, softening her face in an almost endearing way.

Though Owen would never dare say _that_ out loud.

He propped an elbow on the pillow, resting his head in his hand. “Eggs and bacon then?” He inched his fingers toward her hip. Breakfast meant separating himself from Claire’s skin and that perfectly sweet vanilla scent of her lotion.

Claire batted his hand aside.

“If you insist on cracking bad vampire jokes,” she said. “You better make some damn good coffee.”

“Comin’ right up.”

Owen tore himself away and sat up, retrieving his pants from the floor. Claire’s fingers skittered up his back, teasing at his neck. He tilted his head toward her hand with a groan.

“I thought you wanted coffee,” he said.

The mattress dipped, accompanied by the rustle of sheets as Claire moved behind him. She slid her arms around his shoulders, her breasts pressed to his back with no sheet to inhibit the feel of skin against skin. Her breath fanned over his ear, her hands roaming down his chest.

“I do,” she whispered. “Later.”

Owen’s eyes fluttered closed. “You don’t play fair.”

Claire smiled against the curve of Owen’s neck. “You’ve known that for a long time. And you like it.”

She scraped her teeth over his pulse, just to feel it jump and twitch like a trapped creature in her claws. She didn’t bite him though. Didn’t apply that fraction of pressure needed to break skin and bring blood boiling to the surface.

Claire climbed into Owen’s lap, her hands soft and gentle everywhere she touched—a fact that continued to surprise him when he had expected sex with a vampire to be…aggressive, to say the least. Masochistic. Similar to the heart-pounding adrenaline rush of a near-death experience.

Instead, it was a lesson in patience.

Claire had grown accustomed to immortality where time had no hold over her. She alternated as she pleased between feather-light kitten kisses and the sting of her fingernails or her teeth dragged over Owen’s skin, leaving him on the edge for hours.

As a hunter, Owen was no stranger to the long game. Weeks, months, years of foreplay spent in the form of tracking vampires, studying their habits and behavior, diet and environment, before finally leading to the main event.

But this was nothing like the hunt. This was surrender, his as well as hers. Exposing all those delicate breaking points they had both guarded for so long, in body as well as mind.

Claire froze. She pried Owen’s hands away from her hips and angled her head to the side, listening.

“Someone’s coming,” she said.

She scrambled off of his lap and gathered up her clothes, yanking them on in a rush. Owen moved to the window, peeled a corner of the blinds aside.

Nothing.

He didn’t need visual confirmation to figure out Hoskins was about to drop in for a surprise visit.

***

“How far out?” Owen said.

Claire didn’t reply. She scooped up her shoes, tugging them on. Why had she come here? She should have played it smart and kept her distance.

“Claire,” Owen said with an edge of impatience in his voice.

Her gaze snapped to him.

The moment she’d heard the growl of an engine in the distance, Claire wanted to forget Owen. Forget last night. Forget the intoxication of his hands on every inch of her body and how much she hoped it would never end.

Looking at him now…

She couldn’t do it.

“Four minutes,” Claire replied. “At the most.”

“Go,” Owen said. “Take the back door. I’ll buy you as much time as I can.”

“I’m not leaving without Blue.”

 _Or you,_ she thought. But she didn’t have that luxury and neither did he.

Owen reached into his pocket and took Claire’s hand. He pressed a key into her palm, cold, hard edges cutting through the walls that separated them, human and vampire, hunter and hunted.

“I have a bungalow,” Owen said. “No one knows about it except me. I took Blue there to keep her safe.”

Owen withdrew, his hands falling away from Claire. Where his touch had been, so warm and comforting, there was only frigid empty air. She ached to grab his hand again and never let go.

Owen dropped to his knees beside the mattress and reached underneath, patted around for a moment, then stood again. He held out a map to Claire.

“I marked the route for you,” he said. “Get Blue and leave. The bungalow is hidden for now but I’m not sure how much longer that will last. Lay low for a while. Don’t make an appearance for anything or anyone.”

Claire nodded as she accepted the map and clutched it close to her chest.

For a moment, silence filled the bedroom as Claire and Owen stood apart. They didn’t touch. They didn’t speak. They simply looked at each other.

Then Claire turned to leave.

Owen hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her back to him. He cupped her cheek in his hand and kissed her, desperate and rough and bittersweet with the taste of _I should have done this sooner._

Claire broke away, sucking in a gulp of air, fingers pressed to her mouth, as she headed for the back door.


	11. Chapter 11

Claire had barely set foot outside when the front door banged open. Blood scent exploded in the air, too-sweet and thick.

She skidded to a stop, flattened herself against the side of Owen’s trailer. Someone was hurt. This was more than just the scent marker of arterial blood, pumped through a network of veins, muted by skin. This was spilled blood. Exposed to the open air. Heat escaping, cooling to staleness by the minute.

Why hadn’t she smelled it before now?

Owen. Her senses had been overwhelmed by him. His hands on her body, his lips pressing her mouth open, his tongue sliding along her tongue…

Allowing herself to get distracted was dangerous, not only for her but for the hive as well.

Claire clutched the key in her hand until the edges cut her palm, like teeth. Like fangs, drawing blood.

Blue was hers. All she had to do was disappear. Vanish to someplace faraway, so secluded that humans could never find her or her girls for a long time.

“There are teeth marks in his neck, Grady.” Hoskins’ voice. Growling and hoarse. “That queen bitch did this.”

A rush of cold rocketed up Claire’s spine. She knew she should run while she had the chance.

But she hooked her fingers over the windowsill anyway and peered into Owen’s trailer.

A wan-looking Mills laid on Owen’s couch, cuts scattered across his chest and arms. Owen knelt beside him, a first aid kit sprawled open on the floor.

The cuts were shallow. Once healed, they wouldn’t even leave scars. But they bled. A lot.

The sight of blood raised panic in a human brain. And a panicked brain was obedient, which was exactly what Claire had needed only days ago. It felt like a lifetime had passed since then, holding Mills under her control to put pressure on Owen and release Blue…

_I’m beginning to think you’re not as heartless as you want the world to believe._

Owen had said those words to her last night under very different circumstances. As he took in the state of Mills before him, did he regret it? Would he go back to hunting her?

“Did you see her do it?” Owen said. His voice was low, level. But there was an edge to his words, dark and rough. “She’s not the only vampire in the area.”

Hoskins bared his teeth—a gesture in any language from human to vampire and everything in between, to be purely predatory. “Who cares whether I saw her do it or not? This is Dearing’s handiwork. Anyone with a lick of goddamn sense could see that.”

Slowly, Owen turned his head to look up at Hoskins. He flicked a roll of gauze back into the first aid kit and rose to his feet.

Hoskins’ blood pounded like a war drum. Any second, things were about to get ugly.

Claire slipped away from the window and inched around the trailer. There was no scent of other humans on the air but the thought that Hoskins hadn’t brought his men along provided no comfort. He never acted alone before. Why would he start now?

Hoskins’ Jeep was parked by the front door, tire tracks skidded sideways in the dirt and gravel.

At this distance, Claire could still hear Owen’s voice, faint but clear.

“I told you to keep your distance,” he said. “Yet here you are. Barging into my territory without a warning or invitation. And it sure sounds like you’re threatening me.”

“Mills needed help,” Hoskins countered.

“Cut the bullshit. You don’t give a rat’s ass if another hunter needs help or not. You want to take down Dearing yourself.”

“Damn right I do. It’s about time her head was mounted on my wall. You’re not getting the job done.”

Owen’s blood was boiling hot. Heat emanated from the trailer in wave after wave, accompanied by the burn of adrenaline. A crinkle of paper punctuated the stillness.

Claire darted toward Hoskins’ Jeep and with a slash of her teeth, punctured the bitter black rubber of his front tire. A minute later, the remaining tires followed suit until they were flat, shredded beyond repair.

Then Claire bolted for her car, parked deep into the tree line, invisible from the road. As she started the engine, she glanced in the rearview mirror, hoping to catch one final glimpse of Owen.

But the trailer door remained closed.


	12. Chapter 12

Hoskins slapped a photograph to Owen’s chest. Owen snatched it out of Hoskins’ hand, not pleased at the prospect of entertaining Hoskins any longer than necessary.

He looked down at the photograph to see Claire, seated on the kitchen counter in Shangri-La. Owen’s hands rested on her thighs, her skirt bunched at her hips.

Memories of that moment blazed warm and familiar in his head. How many times had he replayed that first kiss, and every kiss after that, the sweet taste of Claire in his mouth?

Now that the moment was exposed through the eyes of a third party, Owen’s throat constricted, tight with anger.

“Very funny,” Owen replied. But his voice was too hard and sharp for humor. He flicked the photograph back at Hoskins. It fluttered to the floor, unheeded. “Did Mills photoshop that?”

It was a poor bluff. Transparent and obvious. Owen didn’t care. Every second he stalled, Claire gained more and more distance.

Hoskins leaned in and tilted his head to a condescending angle. “How long have you been getting your rocks off with the corpse?”

A split second of silence stretched in the room, like the inhale before a scream.

Then Owen drove his fist into Hoskins’ face. Bone gave way beneath his knuckles with a satisfying _crack_. Blood – dark red and silky smooth – gushed from Hoskins’ nose, smeared across his mouth in a parody of the thing he hated most.

Hoskins’ head snapped to the side. He swiped the back of his hand across his mouth and spat blood on the floor.

Mills made a gargled noise of distress in the back of his throat, his gaze darting between Hoskins and Owen.

The room seemed to contract, tension humming like a plucked string. At any moment, Hoskins would retaliate and the strain that had been simmering would finally boil over.

But Owen was without a weapon, while Hoskins had the advantage of packing at least a pistol, probably a knife as well.

There was a Glock under Owen’s pillow. A shotgun taped beneath his mattress. Too far away to reach.

In the blink of an eye, Hoskins’ shoulder twitched as he reached for his pistol, tucked in the back of his jeans. Owen reacted on instinct, caught Hoskins’ wrist. Owen yanked on Hoskins’ arm and rammed his elbow into Hoskins’ solar plexus.

Hoskins doubled over, wheezing. Owen stripped the pistol from his grip and stepped back, aiming at Hoskins’ chest.

Hoskins rasped a rough, dry laugh. “You piece of shit. Killing another hunter to defend a vamp.”

“I haven’t pulled the trigger,” Owen countered. “Don’t give me a reason to.”

“You always acted so high and mighty. Like you’re better than the rest of us.”

“And you always acted like an asshole. Glad we can be honest with each other.”

“Fuck you, Grady.”

“Right back at ya, Hoskins. Now. It’s about time we went our separate ways for good.”

Hoskins took a step forward but Owen tightened his grip on the pistol and clucked his tongue.

“Sit,” he said. “Stay. That nose looks pretty bad. But not as bad as a bullet hole to the gut.”

Hoskins seethed through his teeth. Owen retreated until his heel bumped against the back door.

“Did she offer to turn you?” Hoskins said. “Is that why you jumped into bed with her? Are you already dead meat?”

“All I did was pay attention,” Owen said. “She’s not the monster you think she is. None of them are. And if you stopped shoving a weapon in their faces every chance you got, maybe you’d see that, too.”

“You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

Owen reached behind him with one hand, twisted the door knob until it clicked open.

“At least I’m not the one with a pack of pissed of vampires on my tail,” he said.

Then Owen bolted. The door slammed shut and banged open a second later, Hoskins roaring after him.

Owen disassembled Hoskins’ gun as he ran and scattered the parts in the dirt. He skidded to a stop beside his truck and climbed into the cab. He fumbled the keys out of the glove box and tore out of the driveway.

In the rearview mirror, he spotted Hoskins scrambling into his Jeep, the engine rumbling to life with a growl.

Followed by…nothing. The Jeep didn’t move. The wheels were pools of limp, black rubber. Shredded.

Hoskins’ face was cherry red with rage and even though Owen couldn’t hear him, he was sure Hoskins was swearing a blue streak a mile wide.

Owen grinned. Claire must have punctured the tires to ensure she wasn’t the only one who got away from Hoskins and Mills.

“That’s my girl,” he whispered.

With enough of a head start, he could follow Claire to the bungalow. Wrap his arms around her. Kiss her thank you for being brilliant and brave...

Owen steered his truck in the opposite direction. Splitting up was the smarter choice. 

But it wasn't the one he wanted.


	13. Chapter 13

A blanket of hushed stillness lingered over Owen’s bungalow. Claire stood in the doorway, caught between two worlds—his and hers, human and vampire.

It wasn’t the home of a hunter. It was simply a cozy room, a small, snug fit for one person alone. A bed was tucked in the corner, with a kitchenette, and a clunky box of a television set that looked as if it hadn’t worked in years, serving as a table instead.

Walls didn’t separate one section of the bungalow from another. Eating, sleeping, and entertainment melted into one seamless living space. There was no need to hide anything.

This was a sanctuary. The bitter smell of guns and the tang of wood stakes didn’t exist.

Only marks of Owen lived here. Worn leather work boots by the door. The smell of damp forests and fresh air clung to every surface, filling the room. There were car parts on the kitchen counter, a rag stained with engine oil. A spare handful of dishes scrubbed and stacked by the sink. A cup of coffee, forgotten, on top of the old television.

Then Claire noticed the pictures, snapshots framed and hanging on the wall.

Owen grinned up at the camera, one eye squinted shut as a dog licked his face. He looked younger, barely into his 20’s, cheeks flushed red from hours spent outdoors. His hair was longer, curly and dishwasher blond from the sun.

Another picture showed Owen with a herd of Navy men in uniform, arms around each other’s shoulders.

Claire traced her fingers along the frame of each picture as she studied it. In the past, she would have combed those pictures for anything she could use as leverage—loved ones, careers, affairs.

This time, she studied the pictures for precious details to Owen’s life that she might never get the chance to learn otherwise.

The clear-cut, strictly professional ways of a vampire had always suited Claire. Hunt or be hunted. Eat to survive. Protect the hive. Every move, every decision, every minute was aimed like an arrow at a target, flying straight and true. One miss would upset the balance, ending in disaster—the destruction of her hive, insanity-inducing hunger, a stake to the heart.

Mortality had been mundane at best. Riddled with shallow exchanges that meant nothing and went nowhere. She had dodged them like landmines, craving something more.

Claire had never doubted or regretted her decision to become turned.

Until now with these pictures of Owen in front of her, the memories of him so fresh and warm in her mind—his hands, gentle and firm, spanning the landscape of her body, a groan of pleasure when her mouth touched his skin, all soft lips and sharp teeth.

_“We could change the rules. If we wanted to. Make a new world where humans and vampires lived side by side.”_

The only cohabitation between vampires and humans belonged to the ritual of taking a familiar. But there was no freedom in that. A human signed over their life and their blood to the vampire in exchange for a place in the hive, three square meals, a roof over their head, a place to sleep. Any ties to the human world no longer existed.

Owen would never be a familiar. He was wild and limitless. Nothing contained him. Trapping him in the life of a familiar would be a death sentence, slowly wearing him down, breaking him, until the man Claire had come to love was gone.

She wouldn’t do that to him. She wouldn’t ask it of him either.

Claire’s hand slid away from the wall of pictures and dropped to her side. She glanced down at the map Owen had given her, the messy sprawl of his handwriting, outlining where Blue was hidden.

She hugged the map to her chest, one of the few reminders she had left of Owen, and forged to the back of the bungalow until she found the door he had described.

Claire turned the handle. No key. No lock. All this time, Blue had been free to go.

Claire pushed the door open to find a stairwell leading down into the basement. No light emanated from below but Owen knew a vampire didn’t need light.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs, there was Blue, curled up on a mattress in a nest of pillows and blankets as soft and voluminous as clouds. A table held the sprawling remains of a meal—bones and oily spices clinging to dirty dishes. Wedged under the table was an ice-chest, with the chilled scent of blood emanating from it—beef, chicken, rabbit, fish, deer. A wide variety for Blue’s choosing.

Lining one wall by Blue’s bed were piles of books, from graphic novels to brand new bestselling paperbacks. There were puzzle books too, along with playing cards and a battered Gameboy that beeped, the power still running.

Claire knelt beside Blue’s bed, touched her shoulder. Blue yawned and stretched, blinking up at Claire. A lazy, pleased smile spread across Blue’s face.

“Took you long enough,” she said.

“I came as soon as I could, I promise.”

Blue propped herself up on her elbows. “Owen said you would be here last night.”

She glanced over Claire’s clothes—the same clothes she’d worn on her date with Owen, now rumpled from lying on Owen’s floor. Claire’s hair hung loose and wavy around her face, tousled and frizzy. She was far from her usual put-together, invincible appearance.

“If you didn’t show,” Blue continued. “Then Owen told me to wait twenty-fours before I headed home and warned the others. But from the looks of you, I’d say you just got a little distracted.”

For a moment, Claire didn’t know what to say. Blue’s tone was so…blasé. If any other vampires found out about Claire and Owen, she would be bombarded with challenges from all sides for her position as madam of the hive.

And yet Blue didn’t seem to care.

“Wait.” Claire shook her head. “You mean you knew you could leave? Whenever you wanted to?”

Blue shrugged. “Sure. It was safer down here, though. Kept me out of sight. And if hunters came along, I could lock the door to buy me some time. There’s a trap door under my mattress.”

Blue rose to her feet, pulled a corner of the mattress up to show the small door in the floor. She let the mattress drop then started for the stairs.

“Were you in on this the whole time?” Claire said in disbelief.

“No. Just after Owen moved me here. He said he had a proposal and he wanted to talk to you, without getting interrupted by hunters.” She paused, one foot on the stairs. “Owen’s pretty cool. For a human.”

Claire ducked her head with a small smile. No matter what other vampires thought of her, Blue would stay by her side.

“But,” Blue added, “better hope Delta doesn’t figure it out. She’ll freak.”

Claire’s relief plummeted.

Delta.

Claire wouldn’t be able to hide anything from her. Delta was too sharp for that. When Claire got home, she would have a fight on her hands.

***

As soon as Claire stepped into the hive, Delta came hurtling out of the dark. She collided with Claire, pinning her to the wall with teeth bared.

“I can _smell_ him on you,” she hissed. “Disgusting.”

She shoved away from Claire, pacing back and forth, breath heaving, bloodlust blazing in her eyes.

Charlie and Echo hovered in the shadows, glancing between Claire and Delta, torn between loyalty to their madam, and a younger vampire, eager for the kill.

There was no rule against fraternizing with humans. But it was viewed as weakness, no better than a death wish. For years, Claire had drilled into her girls…

_Don’t get close to a human._

_Don’t let them within reach or a stake will be through your heart before you know it._

_Don’t give them the chance of a clear shot to put a bullet in your brain._

Now Claire stood here with the scent of Owen’s skin all over her. She had allowed him to get close. Worse than that, she had wanted him even closer. And she didn’t regret a single second of it.

Blue stepped forward, coming alongside Claire.

“Owen helped me hide from other hunters,” Blue said. “He’s a good one.”

“There’s no such thing,” Delta shot back. “Besides, you’ll have to excuse me if I don’t take the word of the Stockholm syndrome nut job.”

Blue shrieked a war cry.

“That’s _enough_ ,” Claire barked.

Blue hissed in frustration, muscles tense and ready to spring. Delta merely looked annoyed.

Claire turned to Delta. “If you’re proposing a challenge for the hive, say it. This argument is between you and me. Don’t take it out on anyone else.”

Delta crossed her arms. Silent.

“Good,” Claire said. “There are hunters in the area. They want my head and they will take you down with me. We need to make preparations if, and when, they show up.”

Claire moved deeper into the hive. She was still madam, whether the others liked it or not. And her job was to keep them alive.

“No,” Delta said. One word, so final and thunderous, like a guillotine slicing through the stillness.

Claire stopped, turned to face her. “Excuse me?”

“I said, no,” Delta repeated. “I’m not challenging you. But I’m not staying under your command either. I won’t sit around and watch you destroy the hive because you’re messing with your boy toy.”

Claire sucked in a steadying breath. Under normal circumstances, she would never tolerate that kind of speech directed at her. It was a bald-faced disregard for the hierarchy.

But Delta had declared herself independent from the hive. She was solitary, free to say whatever she wanted and go wherever she pleased. She had no madam to answer to.

She had no hive to protect her either.

“Delta,” Claire warned.

Delta turned away, shoulders straight, spine rigid. The decision had long ago been made. This announcement was merely a bare-bones courtesy.

Claire watched her walk out the door, a sinking, hollow dread growing like a black pool in the pit of her stomach.

There was no chance Delta would survive on her own, not with Hoskins and Mills closing in. Walking away from the hive was a suicide run and she would take down as many hunters with her as she could.

Whether Delta was part of the hive or not, Claire wasn’t about to let any vampire, much less one of the girls she had watched over for years, face a pack of hunters alone.

“Stay here,” Claire said.

Blue made a small noise of distress and confusion. _What about us?_

“Look after the others while I’m gone. If I’m not back within three days…”

She trailed off. Blue already knew what to do.

Find Owen. He would keep them safe.


	14. Chapter 14

The torrential downpour made the barren, dark road as slick as an oil spill. Fatigue fogged the edges of Owen’s brain. He knew his reflexes would be slower, a little less attentive to his surroundings. A sluggish reaction in a hunter could mean the split second between life and death.

It didn’t matter now. Owen tightened his grip on the steering wheel and kept going. For Claire.

The city was miles behind him, along with Claire’s hive. If Hoskins or Mills had followed him, they wouldn’t stay on his trail for long. They were good hunters, despite their differing views on methods of the kill. Eventually, they would figure it out. Owen had been the distraction.

By then, Owen could only hope Claire and her hive were buried so deep in hiding that no one could sniff them out. Not even him.

Midnight stretched into 1am. Then 2am. And 3am. Owen stopped for gas and caffeine. Anything more would cost time and distance. He would sleep when his body gave out, when he didn’t have a choice anymore. He hadn’t touched a bite of proper food since his date with Claire. Barely forty-eight hours ago…

The rain came down in whipping, blurring sheets, whiting out the road. Owen slowed to a crawl, tires dragging in the water. Preoccupied as he was with the road, he didn’t notice the shadow streaking along beside him, a smear of black against the darkness as it kept pace with the truck.

But he felt the collision. It T-boned him like a freight train.

Metal screeched, crumpling, tearing. Windows shattered, sending an explosion of glass scratching Owen’s face and arms. The truck skidded sideways, shoved off of the road and into the ditch, landing on its side.

A sludge of thick mud gushed into the cab, flooding across Owen in an icy rush. He fumbled under the seat, grasping, searching.

There. The cold metal of a revolver. It was soaked, gritty with mud, and the chances it would fire were slim to none. But it was better than nothing.

Owen yanked the revolver out, brought it up to aim, and found himself face to face with a vampire.

She crouched on the mangled hood of his truck, fingernails hooked into the metal as if it was as soft as butter. She bared her teeth with a growl—not a warning. She wanted blood tonight and it didn’t look like hunger fueled her this time. Only pure rage sparked hot in those black eyes.

Owen recognized her. One of Claire’s vampires.

For a split second, his heart faltered. Claire wouldn’t let a member of her hive come after him like this. Unless…

Unless she was gone.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said. “I know you belong with Claire.”

The vampire spat a searing hiss. “Oh, I definitely want to hurt you, hunter. And let’s just say Madam Dearing isn’t in the picture anymore.”

Owen’s chest went unbearably tight. He fought to take in a breath, to keep his thoughts on track, stay on top of the game. If he caved, even for a moment, he’d be dead. She had found him by supernatural abilities - sensitive smell despite the rain, excessive speed, and Herculean strength. She could crush him like a bug in an instant. For now, she was toying with him and enjoying every second of it. But when she was finished, it would get ugly. Fast.

“What happened?” he demanded. “Where’s Claire?”

“She _fucked_  you. That’s what happened.”

Owen adjusted his grip on the revolver. The thought of putting a bullet in one of Claire’s vampires made him sick. But it looked like this particular vampire had no intention of letting him live tonight, whether Claire had any say in the matter or not.

“She wouldn’t want you to kill me,” Owen said, a feeble attempt at buying himself some time.

He was pinned here, in a mangled truck in the mud and rain, while a pissed off vampire loomed over him. Getting out alive wasn't going to be easy.

The vampire gave a purring little hum. “I don’t care.”

She lunged, teeth snapping at his face. Owen rammed his forearm against her throat, holding her at bay for what little time he could, and buried the pistol’s muzzle between her ribs.

“Do it,” she taunted. “Shoot me and my sisters will leave the hive, too. They won’t rest until you’re ripped apart. Madam Dearing will never forgive you.”

Owen held the gun steady but he didn’t pull the trigger.

_Madam Dearing will never forgive you._

Claire was alive, along with her hive.

But the vampire knew she was the one in control, not him. If Owen hurt her, if he pulled the trigger and his bullet tore through her lungs and heart, muscle and bone, the delicate trust he had built with Claire would be lost for good.

“Don’t worry,” the vampire whispered. “I won’t make your death quick. Won’t make it painless either."

Owen’s heart wouldn’t let him fire that gun. And yet his instincts wouldn’t let him surrender either. But all he had ever known was the fight to stay alive.

Instincts or heart. One had to win out over the other.

_“No!”_

Claire’s voice, faded by distance and weather. A rush of relief surged through Owen like a tidal wave, easing the tension in his muscles.

That window of opportunity was all the vampire had been waiting for.

She twisted away from Owen’s forearm and attacked again, jaws stretched wide open, teeth wicked white in the muted dark.

He jerked to the side and her teeth caught his shoulder instead of his neck. Incisors sliced through his shirt, grazing his skin.

“Delta!” Claire barked.

A low growl rumbled in Delta’s throat. She glanced over her shoulder as Claire’s figure took shape in the shadows.

Delta’s gaze shot back to Owen and her eyes narrowed.

Owen tensed. Delta lashed out, dragging her fingernails down his torso as if she would claw her way through his ribs to reach his heart.

Still, Owen didn’t pull the trigger.

Then Delta was wrenched off of him. Claire stood there, soaked to the skin. Her pristine clothes were dripped, flecked with mud, as she held Delta by a fistful of hair.

Delta fought back, flashes of teeth and fingernails hooked like claws. Biting. Slashing. Madam against underling. Delta let out a piercing shriek that sent a cold chill down Owen's spine, a primal, feral sound of fury.

As quickly as it started, it was over. Delta launched into the night. 

Claire lingered, torn between Owen and Delta. Owen scrambled out of the truck and took her hand, drawing her close. Claire’s breathing was heavy and harsh from the exertion of the fight, adrenaline trembling through her muscles. She brought her arms up, encircling Owen's waist with a small noise of relief.

“Are you okay?” she rasped. She touched his face, shoulders, chest. She stopped when his blood stained her hands—blood drawn by one of her own vampires.

“Just a few scratches.” Owen cupped Claire’s face in his hands, tilting her head up to look at him. “I thought you were…”

Claire frowned, confused. Then understanding dawned in her eyes and she shook her head. “I’m all right. The girls are safe. But I don’t know how much longer we can hold out. If we move the hive—”

“Hunters will catch you,” Owen finished for her. “Unless you split up."

"We wouldn't make it."

Owen sighed and hooked his arm around Claire's shoulders, drawing her into his chest. It felt so good to hold her again, even if he knew it wouldn’t last.

"I told you to stay hidden," he said. "You shouldn't be out here."

“Delta’s upset," Claire replied, her voice muffled in the damp fabric of Owen's shirt. "She’s not thinking clearly. She abandoned the hive. Owen, there's a reason vampires don't live alone. We're not solitary creatures. We're at our strongest when we're in a pack. Delta can't survive on her own.”

“She seems to be doing fine to me,” Owen replied, rubbing at his chest. Delta’s fingernails had left twin tracks from one shoulder across half of his sternum. Luckily not deep enough for stitches but they burned a vicious reminder that Delta would have his heart in her hands the next time they crossed paths.

“I have to bring her home,” Claire said. She placed her hand over Owen’s chest, tender flesh and blood beneath her palm. “I need you to look after Blue and the others.”

Owen shook his head. “No.”

“But—”

“You gave them a family, Claire. You gave them a place to belong and feel safe when the rest of the world hunted them. Including me. They need their madam now more than ever.”

Claire turned to look into the dark where Delta had disappeared. Owen curved his hand over the back of Claire’s neck and brushed a kiss to her temple.

“I’ll track down Delta,” he said. 

Claire’s gaze flicked to the revolver in Owen’s hand. It felt like a lead weight, dragging him into the mud.

“She had you,” Claire whispered. Her gaze darted back up to his face. “But you didn’t shoot.”

Owen shrugged. “I knew she was one of yours.” He paused then dipped his chin, resting his forehead against Claire’s. “Besides, I made a promise. Breaking all the rules and building something new, remember?”

Claire curled her fingers into Owen’s shirt and pulled him close for a bruising kiss.

When she drew back, Owen curved his hand over her hip, not willing to let her go again so soon.

“I’ll call you when I have Delta,” he said, his voice barely audible above the rush of rain on the pavement.

Claire nodded. She trailed her fingers over Owen’s jawline, drifted over his lips. Owen held her wrist in place and kissed her fingers, lingering longer than he should. She released a sigh and her eyes slipped shut.

Then she tore herself away, leaving Owen standing on the side of the road in the dark. Bleeding. Wet. And the warm memory of her fingers on his lips growing cold.


End file.
